


The High Way to Hell (Season One)

by acareeroutofrobbingbanks



Series: The High Way to Hell [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Demons, FOB, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, Gen, Like, Urban Fantasy, Vampires, Wendigo, Werewolves, fall out boy - Freeform, next season, peterick way way in the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:25:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 143,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acareeroutofrobbingbanks/pseuds/acareeroutofrobbingbanks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Andy?” He stared between Joe and Pete in disbelief. “Andy is, what? A vampire?”<br/>“So it would seem.” Pete said. Patrick still stared.<br/>“He’s vegan!” Patrick insisted, blinking rather rapidly.<br/>“The rest of the time, yeah.” Andy muttered, half concealed by shadows.<br/>Joe the werewolf, Pete the fairy, Andy the vampire, and Patrick is more than a little confused. This band is starting to be more than he bargained for, as they are hunters of the supernatural variation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snow (Hey Oh)

“Hey, uh, Patrick?” Andy asked. It had taken a long time to get up the courage (nearly the whole drive from Chicago back to Milwaukee) but he had done it. His mouth was watering, his conscience screaming, but he couldn’t stand being next to Patrick any longer. He could smell him for god’s sake, inhale him in this tiny fucking car like some exotic spice that some white travelers had circumnavigated the world for, and it was unbearable. No way in hell could he last another week.

“Mmm?” Patrick blinked at him blearily as he turned  from the window. Andy smiled kindly at him, feeling his heart pounding angrily. He was such a shitty person, such a fucking shitty person.

“Could I have a word with you when we get back? In private?” Andy slid all the words out before he could back down, then tried not to cringe. He pleaded in his head for Patrick to say no.

“People will say we’re in love.” Patrick deadpanned, his voice still sticky with sleep as he sat up straight.

“You like Oklahoma?” Pete asked dubiously, turning back from the passenger seat to face them.

“Never seen it.” Patrick muttered. “Was making a Silence of the Lambs reference. Hannibal and Clarice?” He seemed so confused, so innocent and soft, and Andy was so fucked. HIs mouth watered as he could practically hear the rush of blood flow up to Patrick’s cheeks, he blushed so easily. “But yeah, sure thing, ma-a-an.” Patrick lifted his hand in a feeble attempt to stifle a yawn. He looked young, that was what he looked like. Young and confused and tired, and Andy felt like a common rapist at the moment, but it didn’t matter. Somehow that made it all better, him the prey and Andy the predator, Patrick young and blushing and tender, Andy too powerful for Patrick to know what hit him.

They got out of the car to be greeted by a blizzard, courtesy of Wisconsin. The sun was out, not in the literal sense that it could be seen, but in the way that the sky was no longer black and the snow was bright. Pete and Joe hauled the guitars that they had insisted they need travel back to Chicago for inside, and and Andy pulled Patrick over to the other side of the building.

“

.” Andy said, not even pretending to stop himself. He didn’t care, must not have, and he could still smell Patrick, all warm and tender and fragrant in the biting cold wind.

“I- I won’t remember-?” Patrick looked confused, but his eyes hadn’t clouded over. Andy scowled, but decided he could clean up after he was done. He cleared the meter of space between he and Patrick in a step, and sank his teeth into Patrick’s neck. Under his iron strong grip, Patrick moaned, not a helpless moan, but a fearful one, stuttered from cold or fear or a combination.

“St-stop-” Patrick yelled, and all Andy’s morals tumbled away with the snowflakes as warm blood rushed into his mouth. The weeks of being unable to reach a blood bank or his mother, and the tantalizing scent of this band’s singer- it was too much.

“Don’t!” Patrick gasped, trying to squirm away, only causing Andy’s fangs to rip into him more. Andy felt confusion at the struggle, trying to hold Patrick close to him, not let him go. The rip caused by his victim’s movement made a splash of blood fall down onto the snow, red sinking through the white fluff, and Andy almost wished Pete would see it, it was so poetic looking. “Andy, stop!” He cried, pushing him away, but to no avail. Andy sucked, a hideous slurping noise, hoping Patrick would grow quiet soon. He was lost in the ecstasy. Andy had read plenty of stories comparing the taste of blood to sex, but it felt more vital than that. It was more like the taste of water when you’re truly dehydrated, after a long day in full sun at a music fest. Patrick’s blood felt especially life giving, maybe due to the cold weather, too chilly for even his heightened endurance, or maybe because this was only the second time he’d drank from a living, breathing human being, trembling under his fingers with tangible life. It sickened Andy to think about, but Patrick’s futile and increasingly feeble attempts to escape were making him enjoy it all the more. His hands pushed weakly at Andy’s chest, but he couldn’t have honestly meant to get away, it was so light, like a gentle caress on Andy’s skin. He may have been screaming, Andy couldn’t say for sure if it was him or the wind, but when he determined it was screaming, his knees felt weak with primal delight in the fact. He was a predator, no matter how he tried to deny it. And now, with warm blood flowing through him, he didn’t want to deny any of this.

“Please,” Patrick begged, barely struggling and no match for Andy’s steely grip. “Please, Andy, let me go w-we can t-talk-” he stuttered as he pleaded, shivering from the blood loss and the cold. “Stop!” He screamed in one final effort to get away, and since Andy was nearly done anyway, he stopped sucking at the wound, pulled away, then licked all off all the stray blood that spilled down to Patrick’s collarbone when he squirmed. He then gently turned Patrick around to face him just as something barrelled into him, knocking him down into the snow.

“You sick fuck!” Joe screamed, pinning Andy’s wrists to the pavement and slamming his knee down onto Andy’s chest, holding him firmly in place. The air was forced out of his lungs as he was trapped between Joe and the ground, and he was incapable of speaking as Joe growled at him, low and animalistic, his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth, his huge and abnormally sharp canines. With his teeth bared and his hair ratty, it wasn’t hard for Andy to recognize the doglike smell, and were he not flat on his back, he would have shrank back. “I fucking knew there was something wrong with you, I knew you weren’t human, and I was right, you’re a goddamn vampire!” Joe’s cry was harsh and ragged, too angry for Andy to be safe around it, and he felt his defensive instincts kicking in.

“You’re one to talk,” Andy choked out, trying to find his voice and suck in as much of the icy air as possible. “Who let the dog out?” He snarled as territorially as possible, glaring into Joe’s eyes. He snarled back at Andy, who could now feel the nails holding down his shoulders grow sharper and longer. If he transformed now, Andy was fucked. He would either die, or Patrick and Pete would be really pissed that he had killed their guitarist. Which marked this as yet another moment that Andy really fucking hated being a vampire. He steeled his nerves, tensed his muscles, and managed to wiggle his legs around enough that he could place his feet flat down on the ground. He was preparing himself to push off the ground, springboard style, and attempt to launch Joe off, maybe get him to fly far enough back he could make an escape, when he heard shoes pounding on the pavement towards him.

Pete ran past them, seemingly uninterested that two of his friends were about to battle to the death, and skidded down on his knees next to Patrick. Andy craned his neck to look out past Joe, and saw that Patrick was crumpled on the street, apparently unconscious. His eyes appeared to be closed, and he looked far too pale to be healthy. Pete lifted his head up, checking for any bruises or bumps that would mean a concussion, and seemed grimly satisfied. He turned to the others.

“Joe, give up this alpha male bullshit right the fuck now and help me take him inside.” He jerked his head towards Patrick. “Andy, come with us, and at a safe distance, if you don’t mind.” Pete continued with a sigh, and glanced warily at Joe. Joe stood up, walking backwards away from Andy and refusing to take his eyes off him. “We need to get him lying down, head elevated, and if one of you wants to dig some food or a juice box out of the van, that would help a lot. Something with sugar in it.” Pete directed, his voice level, but obviously worried.

“Pete!” Joe hissed, “You don’t understand! Andy is the whole reason-”  
“I understand more than you do, asshole.” Pete said with a glare towards Joe. “And I cannot comprehend how you two managed to know each other for so long without noticing what was going on, but I guess, you know, mixed kids gotta stick together, right?” Pete sneered. “Anyway, we can discuss the werewolf bigotry towards vampires,” Pete said to Joe, “And your poorly executed snack time,” He glared at Andy, “In a few minutes. Right now, we need to get out lead singer inside before he dies of hypothermia, okay?”

More stunned than anything else, Andy led the others inside to the empty recording studio. The producer had left, but he had gifted a key to Pete first so that they could drop off the guitars they brought back from Chicago in there. Andy pushed all the empty soda cans off of a coffee table in the front room, so that Pete and Joe could lie Patrick down there. Pete ripped a pillow off the lone stuffed chair and shoved it unceremoniously under Patrick’s head.

“So,” Pete turned to Andy, looking annoyed. “Why did you try to kill out lead singer?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Andy said, miserably. He thought he would only have to deal with the usual amount of guilt, not this disaster. “I just- I hadn’t had a single drink of blood in two months, okay? I was starving, and something about Patrick-” Joe interrupted Andy with a protective hiss, glaring at him. Pete’s eyes narrowed darkly.

“You have not waited 2 months.” He said flatly.

“Yes, I have.” Andy said with a sigh. Here was the part where anyone who knew anything real about vampires got lost, confused, and lashed out. Always.

“Unless you’re a lot fucking older than you look, that’s impossible. I’ve been to your house, and I’ve seen pictures of you as a kid. You’re new to eternity, so what game are you trying to play?” Pete asked, cold and calculating, to Andy’s dismay.

“I’m not really a vampire, I- well, it’s kind of complicated.” Andy said.

“Ah yes,” Pete replied sarcastically. “Who doesn’t love luring young men off into dark alleys to suck their blood? I know I do. Don’t have to be a vampire to like some harmless neckplay, huh?”

“I’m half vampire.” Andy snapped, The patronization was grating on him more than Joe’s open hostility, and he wished the room were larger, more open. He felt confined in the low ceilinged lounge, surrounded by enemies that were very good friends a few minutes previously. “Like in Blade, right? Almost exactly like Blade, really.” Andy laughed for good measure, then pressed on. “My mom got bitten when she was pregnant with me, so I can go out in sunlight and eat human food and age and stuff. I can wait so long in between blood because I’ve had all 23 years of my life to practice.” He explained hurriedly, staring down at the orange shag carpet, thick with cigarette burns from the 70’s. “Mom was a nurse, so she just shifted to the night shift. She can usually make away with blood that way, and of course, I was a pretty normal kid. It’s only when I go a really long time when I feed off of a person. I’ve only done it once before.” He muttered, as a sort of apology.

“I find that hard to believe.” Pete told him, but he turned around and started digging through Patrick’s backpack. “Still, I guess I have to, since you’re staying and all.”

“Pete!” Joe turned to face him. “We can’t trust him, he’s-”

“Please don’t be a hypocrite man, the only thing he’s done wrong so far is injure Patrick, and if Patrick forgives him, I can live with it.” Pete shrugged, then grinned at Andy. “So, like Blade, huh?” Joe looked horrified.

“Yeah, basically.” Andy said, feeling sort of proud all of a sudden. “It’s a good thing, too, I love being out in the sun, in nature.”

“I know, it’s just not the same at night.” Pete agreed. “Course, sometimes I like it more at night, but sometimes not, and it’s good to have the option.” As Pete dug around in his backpack and pulled out a much abused can of generic Dr Pepper, Andy felt infinitely relieved, too much to even question the whole situation. A thought then occurred to him, and he frowned slightly.

“How do you know so much about the supernatural stuff?” Andy asked Pete. Joe rolled his eyes, though he seemed pleased to know something Andy did not.

“Thought you’d be able to smell it.” Pete told him, looking mildly surprised.

“I’m part vampire, not part hound dog.” Andy laughed, trying to not make the stab at Joe look obvious. If Pete noticed, he didn’t address it.

“I’m one of the fae.” Pete smirked proudly. “Son of an angel and a demon, which makes me very,” he paused for dramatic effect; “Versatile.”

“A fairy?” Andy asked, and bit down hard enough on his lip that he could taste his own blood. Laughing would be a terrible idea, but the thought was nearly too funny to bear. Pete seducing women into the spritely halls of a technology free world, wearing old leafy cloaks; it looked like a badly photoshopped picture even in Andy’s own head. Pete mistook the laughter, and sighed deeply.

“Please no sexuality jokes, it gets kind of old.”

“No, not at all!” Andy said. “I just- you seem very human, that’s all.” Pete smiled widely at him.

“Thanks! I was born and raised in a human family which, you know, that makes all the difference. I’ve had a few psych girlfriends and I definitely think it’s more nurture than nature. Aside from the wings and the charmspeak and such.”

“Cool!” Andy said eagerly, feeling as though most of this was going over his head. Joe still seemed livid, but Andy could deal with that later. Now that he wasn’t under fire, and wasn’t starving to death, Andy felt too tired to think straight, sliding down onto the floor and leaning up against the wall. The waiting room was quiet except for their breathing, and Andy nearly drifted off a few times, trying to keep his focus on the sunlit window, hoping that if his eyes burnt enough, they would stay open, yet still he seem to shake awake out of a slump every five minutes.

“You sure you’re not a full blood vamp? You seem pretty desperate to sleep now that the sun’s out.” Pete teased. Andy smiled, struggling to stay awake so that he could apologize to Patrick, trying to stay focused. They had been awake for so long though, Andy hadn’t even drifted off in the car, he’d been too thirsty. Now he felt full and safe and content and warm in the sun that patched heat across the room. Joe was still glaring at him a good twenty minutes later, practically in a battle stance. The curtains waved a bit, an unseen wind ruffling them, as Patrick’s eyes fluttered open. Hopefully not another supernatural omen for Andy to have to deal with.

“Hmm?” Patrick seemed to ask, trying to lift his head, then letting it fall back onto the mangled couch cushion with a thunk.

“Shit, Andy, could you go get a cosmic brownie or a banana or something from the gas station? he’s gonna need food with sugar in it to rebuild the blood.” Pete fretted, scurrying around Patrick, though he seemed pretty knocked out again. Andy nodded wordlessly, as he rushed out the door,  no doubt obvious that he was happy to get out, as well as happy to be helpful. The biting cold air outside the studio felt much better than the stuffy warmth inside, as this air stung his cheeks and nipped at his ears. The brisk wind was waking him up quickly, and it felt healthier than the heavy, over-circulated air inside, so he ignored the van that Joe had the keys to anyway, and jogged down the icy sidewalk.

It was getting later, but it was still early enough in the morning that there was no traffic to speak of, even in Milwaukee's business district. A few cars whizzed by full of tired carpoolers, and a couple of shops began opening for the day, but the sun was just beginning to glint off of the snow, and Andy imagined that it must have been a weekend, because no one seemed in too great a hurry to get anywhere. Fresh snow had fallen since they left for Chicago, and he was the first set of footprints on the newly blanketed sidewalk, something that always seemed to give off a very lonely feel, as though he were the last person alive, and only his feet could marr the frozen landscape. The moment passed a few blocks down, when he came upon the tiny convenience store with a surly girl that wore entirely too much lipstick was sleeping behind the counter at.

Andy half jogged through aisles of brown and bruised produce, looking wilted and defeated in it’s containment, and past garish boxes of sugary cereal until he found the promising options of poptarts, a hopefully unexpired bottle of orange juice, and some hopeful looking pears. They felt rock hard in his hand, but they didn’t look toxic, which couldn’t be said of any other fruit in the building, and fruit had to be healthier than the soda Pete was going to shove down his throat. The tired clerk didn’t offer Andy a bag, so he carried back the snacks in his arms, walking as fast as he could without spilling all of it. Which, in all fairness to him, was still pretty fast. Cars were starting to slowly trickle out onto the street, creeping gently over the ice so they didn’t skid. Andy felt like he must be walking as fast as half the commuting minivans in the road, unafraid of slippery patches and compacted snow. When he arrived back at the door, he kicked it by means of knocking, unable to hold all of his groceries in one hand to use the doorknob, and it was probably locked anyway, not being in the highest end of town and all.

Joe, to his annoyance, was the one who opened the door, and he scowled at Andy, as though anyone else would come knocking on the door of the recording studio at six in the morning. Andy brushed past him, not knocking into him, but not waiting for him to move aside, either.

“He’s not even unconscious.” Pete complained. “He’s just asleep. He must have been tired after being up all night, but he’s gonna kill me for fucking with his sleep schedule anyway.”

“Going back to Chicago for guitars was your idea, if you remember.” Andy pointed out, and Pete rolled his eyes.

“He wanted to go back to Chicago.” He insisted.

“You shouldn’t presume to tell people what they want.” Andy advised him. “Bad habit. Leads to rape culture.”

“Leads to ripping out your lead singers throat.” Joe muttered from the corner of the room. Had the three of them been keeping up on the human charade, Andy might have pretended not to hear it. As it was, he glared at Joe, and opened his mouth to start a pretty heavy and built up rant, but Pete rolled his eyes and pulled him the other direction.

“What did I say about the Alpha-Male stuff?” He asked in a warning voice.

“That’s so stereotypical, I don’t even like packs.” Joe sniffed, turning his nose up. Pete rubbed at the bridge of his nose, giving the appearance of being too tired to fight back.

“We should wake him up, though.” Andy said, gesturing to Patrick. “I mean, he should have something to eat, then sleep for a bit. Should be feeling better than new when he wakes up, if he does that.”

“Did you work for the Red Cross, or do you always take such good care of your victims?” Joe asked in a sardonic tone.

“And you accuse me of stereotyping.” Pete sighed. “Still, probably right, Andy, if you wanna help me shake Patrick awake-”

“Maybe Joe should.” Andy said. Joe shot him a confused look, and Andy shrugged. “He is under the impression that I just tried to kill him, after all.” Joe opened his mouth to reply, but looking over Andy’s shoulder at what he was certain was Pete, he closed his mouth, and nodded curtly, walking past him, purposefully bumping shoulders. Andy sighed, but said nothing, and sat down, handing Pete the juice and pop tarts, sitting the pears down on the ground next to him.

“Hey. Hey, ‘trick, wake up,” Pete whispered, gently shaking Patrick. He scrunched up his eyes, tried to roll over, and hurriedly stuck his hand out onto the ground to hold himself up in place, realizing quickly that there wasn’t room to roll over. He sat up straight, looking frightened, and swivelled his head around, seeming panicky.

“Pete, I just- Andy just- I think he turned into- fuck but you’re gonna think I’m so crazy-” Patrick stuttered, blinking rapidly and breathing heavily, trying to stammer out an explanation.

“Hey now, shh, it’s gonna be okay, alright Patrick?” Joe soothed, rubbing Patrick’s shoulder. He still looked around nervously, and Andy slipped into the connecting hallway, not wanting to spook him. All the guilt came flooding back that, yes, this was his friend, shaking in fear of him, afraid that Andy was going to kill him. He listened with his ear pressed up against the door, with mostly silence and the soft sound of chewing for a while, as Pete had most likely fed Patrick the pop tarts. He then heard a loud slurping, and Patrick hiss out “Damn it” as the bottle fell on to the floor. Andy peered around the corner to see Patrick’s hands shaking, but the bottle nearly empty. He must have been nearly as thirsty as Andy was, he thought with a grim smile.

“Better?” Pete asked kindly, quietly. Patrick nodded weakly, and then shook his head, not in a negative, but more like a dog trying to shake water out of its ears.

“But- Pete, you need to listen to my, fuck, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but Andy, he’s not human, I swear, he’s actually-”

“A vampire?” Pete smiled, but not mockingly.

“Oh. You already know?” Patrick looked confused, blinking rapidly.

“Kind of.” Pete shrugged. “We all have a lot to talk about as a band, but for now, you should get some sleep. I only woke you up to raise your blood sugar back to normal, or something like that. I don’t know, they always fed kid’s twinkies after they donated blood in high school.” He laughed, and Patrick chuckled weakly, already looking like he was falling asleep again.

“But listen, I just-” Patrick’s words started to slur with sleepiness.

“Sleep.” Pete whispered, but the words echoed strangely around the room, bouncing off the walls and hitting three times in a row, though it was clear he had only said them once. Instantly, Patrick’s head hit the cushion, his eyes shut and hi chest heavy with the heavy breath of sleep. Pete motioned for Joe to walk over into the hallway with him, and Andy narrowed his eyes as Pete approached.

“How did you do that?” He asked, and Pete smirked at him.

“We’ve got lots to talk about, but we really should all get some sleep. Evening is the best time for a band meeting anyway, doncha think, batsy?” He nudged Andy in the ribs, and Andy shot a confused glance at Joe, who shrugged at him. It was a step up from the scowling, that was certain.

“Fine, we’ll talk this evening, I guess.” Joe appeared too tired to argue, and he curled up to sleep, his back facing the wall, and his face pointed at Patrick. A subtle warning, but more trusting than Andy would have given him credit for a few minutes ago. He laid down as well, burying his head in the crook of his arm, and hoping Joe wouldn’t make a snide comment about the darkness. Within seconds, he was utterly lost to sleep.

*****

If Pete had been planning on telling his band what he was, (which he hadn’t been), it definitely wouldn’t have gone like this. It would have involved a long time preparing, maybe with some of those “How to come out to your parents” pamphlets they have in guidance counselor offices. Everyone would have been sitting down, calm and prepared, with glasses of water to drink, and it would have been a normal situation that they could have ignored for the rest of their promising music careers. Then Andy drank a little too much of Patrick’s blood, and all of the wonderful years he had planned on pretending throughout were so out the window that it wasn’t even amusing.

Of course, Pete figured out what Joe was pretty quickly. He was a teenager, not very careful with his secrets, because all teenagers want their biggest secret found out, if only for the following drama. He made no effort to conceal himself, but high schoolers have too short of an attention span for anyone to notice. Anyone but Pete, that is, and he had been training himself to notice such things. Andy was a bit of a surprise, as he did pretty non-vampire stuff, like walking in the sun, and using silverware, and being vegetarian. Mostly vegetarian, as it were. But it’s hard to ignore that sort of thing when you hear a kid scream, go outside, and find your drummer mauling your lead singer. Pete was seeing red for a moment, but a snap decision of trying to deal with the situation civilly ended up making all the difference. And Patrick had to get sleep, so what was Pete supposed to do, not help out? Okay, it was stupid, and he would have fallen asleep eventually, but fast results make for a happy Pete Wentz. Even if they did involve a certain lack of free will.

Now, though, he couldn’t sleep, getting maybe an hour of actual sleep, and 8 hours of rolling around and worrying. He couldn’t sleep much when he was calm, how was he expected to do so when he was about to tell three guys that he barely knew, the way things were going these days, about his “condition” as his mother jokingly referred to it.

“You awake?” Andy asked him, still not meeting Pete’s eyes. He looked incredibly guilty, which he was, but it was kind of pitiful to watch. Pete sighed, something he had been doing a lot today.

“Yeah, when am I not?” He joked. Andy looked mildly concerned, but that might just be his face, Pete had decided. He always looked mildly concerned, though around Pete, there was always something to be mildly concerned about.

“You’ve gotta be tired. When was the last time you slept?” Pete bit his lip.

“I slept for a while.” He said. Not a lie.

“Sure thing.” Andy stretched, looking out the window. “Producer’ll be here in a couple hours. We were supposed to get another track done today.”

“We’re nearly there.”

“We’re really not. And we’ve wasted her heat and electricity all day.”

“See if we can do one after the band meeting. Or I’ve got a trick that makes it look like the track deleted itself, then she can blame her equipment.”

“Fine.” Andy stood up, messing his hair up. Joe rolled over, sitting up against the wall he was lying next to.

“I hate waking up at three in the afternoon.” Joe complained. “Reminds me of eighth grade.”

“What were you doing in eighth grade?” Andy asked.

“Your mom.” Joe laughed, and for a second, just one second, it felt like everyone had forgotten, and they could all go back to the way things were before, before any supernatural bullshit got in the way of a pretty decent band. Then Patrick stirred, and Joe stepped in between him and Andy, and Andy slinked off into the hall. Well. At least they appeared to be working together. Sort of.

“Mm time is it?” Patrick asked, trying to swallow down a yawn. He sat up, and frowned, noticing, Pete imagined, that he was sleeping on a coffee table in the studio. “I feel like I’m missing something.” He said slowly.

“Give it a minute.” Joe suggested, and Patrick closed his eyes in thought, then let them snap open, his head pivoting around to look at the room around him.

“Andy?” He stared between Joe and Pete in disbelief. “Andy is, what? A vampire?”

“So it would seem.” Pete said. Patrick still stared.

“He’s vegan!” Patrick insisted, blinking rather rapidly.

“The rest of the time, yeah.” Andy muttered, half concealed by shadows. Patrick flinched away from the sound of his voice, looking fearfully towards him. Andy’s face contorted into a guilt stricken expression yet again. Pete tried not to feel bad, but he did feel a bit for his friend.

There was a few moments of silence, where no one was really sure what to say. After thirty seconds of eternity, Patrick continued bravely.

“So, um. You don’t seem to be killing me.” He pointed out. Andy winced again.

“Listen, dude, I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t think that I was drinking so much, to be honest. I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything. I was just going to take a little and make you forget, but I got carried away, I guess.” Andy apologized, running his hand through his hair.

“No, no, it’s fine, sort of, sorry for not keeping up but,” Patrick paused, “I mean, you’re not the bad guy, is what I’m getting at here, like, you don’t usually kill people?”

“No!” Andy shouted, and Patrick jumped back. “Sorry, no, I’m still just, you know, me. But with fangs.”

“Great.” Patrick said. “Super. Anything else I should know? Is Joe a werewolf on the weekends?” He laughed nervously, and Pete shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from letting out peals of hysterical laughter. Joe smiled guiltily at Patrick, his canines still oversized from attacking Andy early in the morning.

“You must be kidding me.” Patrick breathed. “So what are you then?” He turned to Pete, starting to look angry. Pete pressed on anyway, less amused now.

“Funny thing, actually.” Pete swallowed, his heart pounding in his ears. “I’m actually a- um, a fae, is the technical name.” Three heartbeats of silence passed before Joe started laughing.

“You’re a fairy?!” He roared, falling to his knees, shaking with laughter. Andy tried to cover up his snickers, and even Patrick gave him a consoling smile.

“I literally explained all of this to Andy and you this morning!” Pete said, angry suddenly.

“I wasn’t paying attention, was I?” Joe pointed out. “I was busy dealing with my dying best friend, but now that he’s better, this is pretty damn hilarious.”

“I am the child of an angel and a demon, how is that funny?” Pete snapped, nervous no longer, and mostly pissed off.

“Always going on about Peter Pan, never realized it was because you were Tinkerbell.” Joe tried to be impassive, but broke down laughing again. Patrick, at least, didn’t seem amused.

“It’s not fucking funny.” Pete hissed, too annoyed to be relieved.

“It’s a little funny.” Andy reasoned, smiling, but not rolling on the ground from uncontrolled laughter, like Joe. Pete had a sinister idea.

“Silence.” He said, and the word reverberated through the room, Joe instantly shutting his mouth and making no noise. “Half demon, assholes. Not all pixie dust and glitter.” He waited a  moment, then removed the command. It wasn’t as tangible as saying the word, it just felt as though he were lifting a weight out of the air, like humidity evaporating. It was a cool sense of power, one he didn’t often get to use, since it wasn’t exactly surreptitious.

“Okay.” Patrick breathed in deeply, gulping down air, as though his lungs were crushed. “So, I haven’t been keeping up with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, so you’re gonna have to explain everything to me. Like, what type of vampire, and werewolf and fairy, because clearly this can’t just be simple, what myths are right? So just give me the obligatory debriefing on your mythological morphology.” He waved his hand, looking still a bit more tired and pale than Pete would have liked.

“Well Andy is basically Blade.” Pete rushed. “You know, mom bit when she was pregnant, half human, goes in the sun, needs human food, but super strong and also drinks blood. Joe can control his transformations because he was bitten when he was, what?” Pete looked him up and down. “Eleven?”

“Twelve.” Joe corrected him mildly. “I don’t remember telling you I was a werewolf, by the way.”

“You practically wore a fucking label.” Pete shook his head. “So yeah, urge to turn at the full moon is when you first get bitten. Super strength, sharp teeth, and he has to be a wolf for at least a minute on the strongest night of the full moon.”

“There’s only one night of the full moon.” Patrick said.

“There are three, actually, you really haven’t been watching Buffy.” Pete smiled, and Patrick smiled weakly back. “So I’m fae, yeah, a fairy, and I don’t have wings. Basically fae are, as I mentioned, the offspring of a demon and an angel, I can tell people what to do, I’m very charismatic,” He paused. “It involves a lot of things, but you can basically think of me as a sexy politician and pick the rest up as you go along.”

“Super.” Patrick’s chest heaved.

“Wanna go get lunch?” Andy asked suddenly. Pete cast him what was intended to look like a grateful glance, and Patrick nodded, decisively and shortly. It was a bit of an information overload for one day, Pete knew, but he was going to have to keep up.

“Shouldn’t affect him.” Pete whispered, accidentally thinking aloud.

“What shouldn’t affect whom?” Andy asked, and Pete shook his head.

“Nothing.” He said, trying not to look at Patrick, certain there would be tangible guilt in his eyes. Nothing would come of it, and their identities should be irrelevant, presuming they kept to themselves. They all four piled into the van, stomping through the copious amounts of snow that had fallen while they were sleeping. It never seemed to stop snowing in Milwaukee, and Pete vaguely wondered if it would just snow forever, eventually burying the town in a frozen waste, inescapable. He was aware that he was being particularly morbid, but he had been having a pretty rotten day so far. Though, not so bad as Patrick, he reasoned.

Patrick himself didn’t say a word in the entire ride, taking 30 minutes when it should have been under ten in the slush filled streets made from a lot of road ice and constant snow fall. The tires seemed to skid at every patch of gray, and it was probably a happy accident that they all survived long enough to get to the restaurant, some off beat diner with no business in the winter. They ordered quietly, not quite breaking the silence of the building.

“You show up in mirrors.” Patrick began without preamble, gazing at Andy.

“Yeah, good news that, it’d be a nightmare to get ready without one.” He chuckled.

“And you appear to be able to eat with silverware.” He turned to Joe, who shrugged.

“I think I wouldn’t do so well if you stabbed me with a fork, but who would?”

“I just...” Patrick shut his eyes, collecting his thoughts. Pete felt another twinge of guilt watching him. It was difficult, he knew, trying to wrap your head around all of this, separate the truth from the myth. And it was the equivalent of seven in the morning for him, since they had slept so late and long. “Can you be a bit more specific about yourselves?” he groaned. The lights flickered above their booth, and the waiter returned with their food.

“You all may want to get to your hotel, or wherever you’re staying.” The college aged boy said as he set down the gigantic plates full of breakfast food, which seemed appropriate for the time. He enunciated every word carefully,  especially leaving a space between ‘you’ and ‘all’, trying not to slip into an accent. “It’s really not safe to be out in this sort of weather. People skid off the road, don’t get found for days’n days, snow burries em.” He warned, tucking the tray underneath his arm.

“Thanks for the tip.” Pete said. “but we’re a little short of places to stay. I think we’ll be alright.” He grinned, and the boy walked away, looking slightly dizzy.

“Jesus, have you always been doing that?” Joe asked, sounding appalled. Pete felt obscurely proud.

“Not my fault that you’re supernaturally unobservant.” He grinned, spearing a poached egg with a fork, considering it for a moment, then shoving the whole thing in his mouth, choking on the heat.

“You have the magical ability to charm people into doing your every desire, and you’re still a slob?” Patrick asked, and then raised his hands in defense as Pete glared. “Just clarifying!”

“Thanks man, thought you were on my side.” Pete grumbled, and Patrick smiled kindly at him.

“I haven’t made fun of you for having pixie dust, isn’t that enough?” He asked sweetly, and Andy coughed out laughter around his food.

“You’re a dick.” Pete smiled as he said, happy to see Patrick doing better, he supposed. Patrick wolfed down the pancakes on his plate in minutes, and Pete wondered if maybe he should have kept post blood loss Patrick up a little longer so that he could have given him a full meal. He looked starving, and perked up substantially as he ate, joking and laughing louder than anyone else.

“Silver bullets?” Patrick asked, sipping his drink delicately.

“I mean, I haven’t tested this theory, but I’m pretty sure any kind of bullet would hurt like a bitch.” Joe twirled his fork in the air. “From what I gather, silver is kind of a weak spot for most supernatural creatures, not sure why that is. I think though, that silver bullets would hurt me the way regular bullets would hurt people, and regular bullets would be like, the equivalent to an Airsoft gun.”

“You could kill a werewolf with regular bullets though?” Patrick continued curiously, scooping up a few soopy scraps of maple syrup and crumbs with his fork.

“Yeah, but it’d take a while. Again, I haven’t tested the theory, nor do I want to.” Andy snorted, and Joe kicked at him under the table, hitting Pete instead. Pete winced at the slightly too hard kick, but decided to ignore it.

“Which is more durable, then, vampires or werewolves?” Patrick’s eyes flickered between the two of them. Joe opened his mouth to speak, but Andy was first to whisper “Depends who you ask.”

“Old rivalry?” Patrick guessed. “Didn’t that plotline get old in Dark Shadows?”

“Didn’t racism get old in the 50’s? Didn’t communism get old in the 70’s?” Pete philosophized dramatically. “Of course, but people keep at it, because they are rooted in their beliefs, and it’s basically magic racism.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Joe muttered.

“Is not.” Pete grinned. Patrick grinned too, beaming out from under his hat. The waiter returned to their table, looking sickly and pale, which made his pimples stand out dark red, bright and ugly like drawn on targets.

“You really should try and get home. The blizzard’s getting pretty intense out there.” He warned them, sticking around for a minute as the four looked outside. Truthfully, it was much worse than when they got to the restaurant. The snow on the ground had risen nearly halfway up the tires, though it must have been due to wind and drifting, Pete reasoned. They had only been sitting there a half hour. Still, perhaps it was just snowfall. The white flakes were coming down in large clumps, thick and heavy and pelting at all the surfaces the city had to offer. The van’s windshield was blanketed over, and Pete frowned when he looked at it, deep and white as a whole night of snow storm at home.

“Thanks for the reminder.” Pete told the waiter. “We’d best be on our way then. Um.” He looked around, then leaned in close to the center of the table. “Did anyone bring any money?”

“I think I have some left over from this morning.” Andy said, digging in his pocket for his wallet. Pete was grateful to him, yet again. It would be difficult to dine and dash successfully in this weather, and it was a rotten thing to do in the first place. They scooted out of the booth, Andy paying at the front and dropping all the change he had left into the tip jar a bit guiltily, as it wasn’t much. The cold hit them like a solid wall when they stepped outside, blowing the door so hard that Pete had to struggle with his back up against it to prevent it from slamming shut on them.

“Was it snowing this hard when we came in?” Joe yelled over the wind. Pete shrugged, though Joe probably couldn’t see it, and he pressed forward, trying in vain to kick a path through the heavy snow, mostly getting snow down his socks and feeling the ice melt uncomfortably quickly. He trudged through the parking lot as fast as he could to get to the car, and waited by the passenger side door for Joe to get in and unlock it. All four of them scrambled into the van, and Joe turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened.

“Shit!” Joe yelled. “Fucking shit!” He turned the key back and forth a few times, and the engine wheezed a quiet sputter, but did nothing else. Joe let out an elaborate string of curse words, falling back in the seat and covering his face with his hands.

“Have you tried turning it on and off again?” Patrick called from the back seat, his teeth chattering. Joe whipped around in his seat, pointing at Patrick and glaring.

“Don’t you dare think for even a second that this is fucking funny!” He snarled. “Jesus Christ, what if it’s not the cold?”

“It probably isn’t the cold, if it won’t start at all.” Andy said. “How old is your battery?”

“Fuck if I know, it’s not my goddamn van!” Joe cried, letting his head bang on the back of the seat.

“Calm down.” Pete removed his seat belt and rolled his shoulders back dramatically. “We’ll just ask the restaurant manager if we can leave the van here for a bit, walk back to the studio, get some money, and get a mechanic.”

“Just?!” Joe yelled. “We’ll ‘just’ walk three miles in a blizzard and ‘just’ spend the rest of our money for food and shit on a service that might not work?”

“Keep your pants on.” Pete rolled his eyes. “So we pop open the front of the car, see if there’s anything we can do.”

“What do you know about cars?” Patrick asked. Pete blinked a few times, and everyone groaned in the deep silence.

“Look,” Joe sighed. “I’ll go back to the studio, because the cold doesn’t really affect me that much. Being part wolf and all that shit.” He explained to Patrick. “I think that what’s-her-name has a truck, maybe she can tow us back until the storm passes. In the meantime, you guys go back into the diner and order coffee for a few hours or something, then we’re not loitering.”

“I can come with you. Call a friend out here from a payphone and maybe get some cash for a mechanic or a tow truck, in case that doesn’t work. Also, your mom would kill me if I left you alone in a blizzard.” Pete reasoned. Patrick made an uncomfortable noise in the back of his throat, and the rest of the band turned to face him.

“I could, uh, go with Joe?” He said, his voice lilting up into a question at the end.

“Bad idea.” Pete said instantly. “I mean, this kind of cold isn’t good for anyone, but I think I’m less likely to get enough frostbite to break my nose off, you know? And it’s so hard to get famous with a singer that doesn’t have a nose. Also, if Andy went with Joe, one of them would inevitably kill the other one, so it’s best this way.”

“Patrick might not be entirely danger free either way.” Joe objected, giving Andy a wary look. Andy growled defensively at him, then, looking at Patrick, tried to smoothe out his face quickly. Pete winced internally, certain that this was going to be more difficult than it needed to be.

“Look, you’re gonna be fine, alright? We’ll be back in a few hours, just go inside and have something hot to drink, we’ll be back before you know it!” Pete grinned painfully, more of a grimace than anything else. Patrick stepped out of the car, clearly embarrassed, and Pete felt like shit, but there was nothing he could do. It was bad timing yeah, but he reasoned with himself that there was no such thing as good timing in any case as he and Joe started walking towards the sidewalk, which was nearly five feet high from all the piled up snow on the street now dumped there.

Pete turned back to see Joe still standing in the parking lot, waving at Patrick and giving him a thumbs up. Patrick smiled miserably back at him, then cocked his head as Joe mouthed something at him. His face went blank, and then he nodded seriously, waving once again, and walking inside. Pete waited patiently as Joe watched them enter the cafe.

“Will you give it a rest?” Pete hissed. “You’re just scaring him more.”

“Oh yeah, I’m scaring him, not the recent near death experience at the hands of the guy buying him coffee.” Joe was now walking ahead of him, just brisk enough to cause Pete to have to jog a little bit to keep up with him. Annoying little shit. “And furthermore, you’re supposed to be the overprotective babysitter, right? Yet you leave him with a fucking-”

“If you’re just going to be racist-” Pete started heatedly, his voice raising over the wind at a higher pitch than it had been.

“It’s not fucking racism! I was under the impression that you heard the screaming this morning, and you didn’t even have to try and pull them apart! He could snap someone’s neck without breaking a sweat, and I don’t think he’s quite finished his

.” Joe shuddered, his fists clenched, knuckles white.

“He would have stopped in a few seconds if you hadn’t shown up.” Pete snapped, liking some of the snow off his lips.

“Again, you didn’t try to pull him off. If that’s what slowing down looks like, I’d hate to see him mid kill!”

“I trust him.” Pete said. “And someday, you’ll have to trust him as well.”

“That’d be the day.” Joe grumbled. “Let’s just do this and get back as fast as possible, okay?”

*****

The thing was, Patrick didn’t have a problem with Andy. He really didn’t. The way Andy was now, apologetic and staring down, it mostly just made Patrick feel guilty that he was acting scared. But the longer he was awake, the more vivid the memory was of Andy with fangs, dripping blood and staring at him with cold black eyes, eyes sizing him up like a meal. And though he couldn’t quite reconcile this memory with the sweet dude that laughed at his awful 80’s movie jokes, he still knew it was there, and felt the urge to walk a few feet away from him, as though that would help at all in a situation where he was being attacked. He looked guiltily across the table at Andy, drumming his hands on the table and gazing down, eyes unfocused and kind of sad. It sucked for both of them, and he probably shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.

“No, it’s fine.” Andy sighed. Patrick flinched.

“You can’t read minds too!” He accused. shivering a bit from the chill that pulsed through the window, clinging to his skin despite the warmth of the diner.

“You said that out loud.” Andy told him. “I don’t blame you, and I am,” He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “I am really, really sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have waited for so long, and it was a really shitty thing to do. Also I should have stopped earlier, even though I shouldn’t have been, you know, causing you major blood loss in the first place.”

“Couldn’t you have just gone to a fucking blood bank?” Patrick burst out, suddenly angry. It was embarrassing, goddammit. “You didn’t have to come back to Chicago with us even, if you didn’t want anyone to know so badly, you could have made some bullshit excuse and stayed up here, gotten blood from wherever the hell you usually do.”

“I was actually hoping I would have an excuse to drink your blood.” Andy admitted in a rush. “I just- you must have taken supplements growing up or something because your blood smells like-” He moaned softly, and Patrick flattened himself to the back of the booth, his eyes wide.

“That is so fucking creepy.” He whispered, and Andy’s eyes snapped open.

“I’m really sorry, fuck.” He put his head down on the table, defeated.

“Is this gonna happen often?!” Patrick yelped, still flat against the booth, wondering if he could get it to scoot back by pressing hard enough.

“No!” Andy said fervently. “I’m not gonna let it happen again.”

     "What if you do?" Patrick asked, his voice hushed. Andy grabbed his wrist and pulled, gently to him, but very forcefully to Patrick, giving him no choice but to stare into Andy’s eyes with his own wide and fearful, pupils dilated and heart beating faster. He cursed his own body for reacting in the most counterproductive way possible, and only felt more frightened.

“Patrick.” Andy said solemnly, staring him down as Patrick tried not to hyperventilate, though the terror must have been obvious in his face. “It will never happen again. I’ll never hurt you ever again, I promise.” Patrick closed his eyes, breathing deeply, but calmed down a bit.

“Fine.” He said, trying to yank his arm away, but Andy did not let go.

“How can I prove it to you?” He asked.

“Time? I don’t know, just give it a while and maybe let go of my hand?” Patrick’s voice increased a bit in pitch towards the end, and Andy’s fingers released automatically. He gave him an apologetic look, and Patrick shook his head.

“Hello boys!” A perky waitress said, bouncing up to their table with her ponytail trailing behind her. “How can I help you today? This is a pretty slow afternoon, and in this storm, we figure we’ll put it on the house, since you might be stuck here a while.”

“Where’s the waiter from earlier?” Patrick asked. “You must not have many people working at this time of day. The girl’s smile faded, then perked back up again, her dimples practically pinned in place.

“He went home early. Since it’s such a slow day.” She explained, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She shifted the pad of paper in her hand and bit down on her lip, harder than she should have, hard enough that two spots of blood appeared where she had pierced the skin. Patrick turned to Andy immediately, but he didn’t show any sign of recognition. Perhaps it was polite to just ignore it, if you were a vampire.

“Just hot chocolate, I guess.” Patrick mumbled, drumming his nails on the table. Andy shook his head, waving her on by, and she cheerily said that she’d bring it right on out. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Patrick’s nails drumming almost spastically on the glossy tabletop. He tried to take in the diner around him, which seemed blurry around the edges, almost darker than usual. He still felt fuzzy and lightheaded, but he assumed it must be in his head. If it wasn’t, it would go away eventually, because there was no way in hell he could either be convinced to or afford to go to a hospital. The diner looked sterile, with red vinyl booth seats, sparkly white tables, grayish walls and black and white checkered floor. There was a silent jukebox in the corner, and though booths lined the walls, it seemed like there was too much empty space in the center, so much empty floor where there could have been tables. It felt too exposed, something he had never noticed before, but now couldn’t stop being aware of, noting any discrepancies in his surroundings as well as a strong awareness of Andy’s whereabouts.

“That girl was biting her lip pretty hard.” Patrick broke in, trying to break the silence, but only making the situation feel more awkward.

“Didn’t notice.” Andy said after a moment.

“Really?” Patrick asked. “She broke the skin, can’t you smell stuff like that?”

Andy frowned, his eyes narrowing. “I can smell if the skin breaks, so maybe you were just imagining it.”

“I definitely wasn’t.” Patrick insisted. “I saw blood trickle down her lip, dude. Maybe your nose got messed up this morning, sensory overload, from this morning or something.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how it works.” Andy said, looking impatient. “Are you sure you weren’t just-”

“Here’s your hot chocolate!” The waitress chirped, setting the mug down as she spoke, with a bit of liquid spraying from her mouth into the cup. Red flecks covered the table, and Patrick looked up at her in confusion, quickly turning to revulsion.

The girl’s lower lip was gone, completely ripped away from her face and leaving nothing but exposed red flesh. Jutting out from the base of her gums was a strip of what looked like the inside of cherry pie, bleeding out slowly in rivulets down the girl’s face and neck, covering her uniform and skin with sticky, scarlet blood. She smiled, and her teeth had been stained red as well, stringy and sinewy muscle stuck between her two front teeth.

“Can I get you anything else?” She asked, splattering Patrick with blood and even creating red spots on his glasses. He sputtered for a second, trying to come up with the words to say, when Andy interrupted him.

“Ma’am, are- are you quite alright?” Andy asked, his voice high pitched and frightened. The waitressed laughed a bell like laugh, blood still jumping away from her face.

“Well, I gotta tell you boys, I’m,” She paused and licked some of the blood off of where her lower lip had been. “I’m just famished right now.” She smiled, an awful, crimson smile, and her teeth seemed longer, sharper than they had been. Patrick was frozen in his seat, too horrified to run, too scared to do anything useful, so he just sat there, staring at her as droplets of blood fell to the pristine ground. She looked thin, her ribs showing through her white shirt, and, Patrick could now see, her nametag was identical to the one of their waiter earlier, which would be less odd if it didn’t say “Adam”.

“Maybe you should get -ah- something to eat.” Andy suggested, gulping nervously.

“Well gee, that sounds like a super idea!” She said then pulled the ragged remains of her mouth into a snarl, grabbing Andy’s shirt in her fist and dragging him towards her, pulling him with his face to her face. She smiled at him, inhaling deeply and letting her eyes roll back in an expression of ecstasy. Patrick stared in open mouthed horror as she leaned in, opening her mouth to sink her teeth into Andy’s shoulder, when suddenly, barely aware of his actions, he grabbed the mug of steaming hot chocolate and smashed it over her head. Her grip on Andy slackened as she gasped, her eyes still closed, but now looking more disbelieving than anything, the cocoa running down her bleach blond hair and mingling with the blood on her shirt.

Andy yanked away from her, his shirt ripping off in the process. He leaped over the table onto Patrick’s side of the booth, shoving Patrick off the edge and gripping his arm too tight, pulling him away from the girl and running for the exit. Before he had stumbled a few steps away, he felt her hands wrapped around his throat, pulling him back into the restaurant with a weaker grip than Andy’s, but with sharp nails digging into his neck. He gasped, releasing Andy and trying to pry her fingers away with both hands.

Andy turned around, trying to grab Patrick before he was too far away, but saw that this was impossible, ran after him, nearly slipping on the blood and hot chocolate on the ground. He caught up to them faster than a human possibly could, ripping Patrick away from the girl without realizing that her claw-like nails were stuck in his neck. His blood sprinkled out onto the ground, leaving a wreath of puncture wounds above his collar. He pulled his hands up to around his neck, trying to stop up the blood flow in sudden panic. He pulled his hands away for a moment to find them slippery and red, and he felt incredibly woozy, trying to focus on one specific, non bloodied spot on the ground to regain his balance as he held his fingers up to his neck again. He shut his eyes, and listened to Andy and the waitresses growls mingling in his ears, animalistic and difficult to place one from another. The girl squealed, and Patrick opened his eyes to see Andy rush forward, grabbing Patrick’s blood slippery fingers and pull him forward.

“Where are we going?” Patrick gasped, and Andy shook his head, dragging him forward. Patrick could hear the girl scream behind him, but didn’t turn around. They rushed through the too open diner, past old posters of Elvis that could have been found in a dumpster, till Andy shouldered through a swinging door to the kitchen. Behind the swinging doors, it looked like a horror movie. It was set up like a normal, industrial kitchen, but there was a skeleton collapsed in a heap of disassembled bones next to the twelve burner stove. A pile of bloodied clothes was soaking in the large sink, and one half eaten body was strung up by his toes from a hanging rack that had pans dangling from it. Patrick recognized the half eaten man as their waiter, and covered his mouth so as not to throw up.

“Hurry,” Andy muttered, his eyes trained on the floor as he pushed a heavy trash can in front of the door. Patrick followed his example, looking down and pulling a huge rack full of trays towards the door. It must have been a cooling rack, full of tater tots and fries that were now stony from being there so long. With the skeleton as clean as it was, and food this cold, Patrick realized with a sinking feeling that the girl had been there for a long time. The waiter had probably looked so nervous because he wanted them to get out, knowing that he couldn’t. Patrick tried to think about something else, haphazardly throwing pots and pans onto the tray so that it would weigh more, hold her back longer. The door still seemed unprotected, but Patrick had to believe the extra weight would do something to keep it from flinging open.

“Lemme in guys! Customers aren’t supposed to be in the kitchen!” The girl whined, banging on the door. Andy slammed his back into the tray, stretching his arms out to stop her entrance.

“Try and disconnect the dishwasher.” He pleaded to Patrick. Patrick nodded mutely, running over to the dishwasher, trying to keep his eyes focused on the ground. It disconnected pretty easily in the back, but it took him a minute to remove the pump as his hands shook badly enough that he dropped the machinery everytime the door pounded particularly loudly. He shoved the dishwasher across the kitchen with more force than he thought possible of himself, making it halfway across before he ran head on into the waiter dangling from the ceiling. He screamed, falling back into a pool of the man’s blood, and covering his mouth in terror as it seeped into his clothes, still warm with life.

“Hurry!” Andy wailed, straining with the effort of holding the door back. Patrick scrambled to his feet, slipping a bit in the blood smeared on the floor, and continued resolutely pushing the dishwasher across the floor. He managed to push it up next to Andy, who pushed it into the center of the blockade, then fell to a sitting position. They were silent for a minute, Andy breathing in and out deeply, Patrick hyperventilating.

“Shit.” Andy said after a minute. A demented giggle passed Patrick’s lips.

“Yeah, kinda!” He laughed. “What- what is-?” He fell to his knees, laughing so hard. It occurred to Patrick that he was probably hysterical, but he couldn’t contain his laughter. He looked up, and Andy was looking at him, horrified, and he ground his teeth together until the laughter subsided.

“You okay?” Andy asked. Patrick nodded unsteadily.

“I mean, my neck is bleeding, but that seems to be a common occurrence for me today.” He joked, pulling his glasses off to wipe them clean.

“Great.” Andy said. “Okay, great. Now we just wait for Pete and Joe to show up and we’ll definitely outnumber her.” Patrick nodded again, pressing his hands to the floor to keep them from shaking.

“Not exactly.” Patrick’s head snapped up after a moment.

“What do mean?” Andy asked, staring at him. Patrick inhaled sharply.

“The door quit shaking, so following typical horror movie rules, she should come in through a window now, yeah?” He looked nervously around the room, but couldn’t find a window that the girl could jump through.

“I think we’re pretty well sealed, off, but I’ll get us some knives in case there’s a back door.” Andy said, and began digging through a drawer connected to the wall.

“So what is that thing?” Patrick asked, his body unwilling to stand and help Andy look for weapons.

“Wendigo, I think.” Andy murmured. “Or at least, it reminds me of a wendigo. Native American folklore, it’s a metaphor for greed. Insatiable appetite, you know, which is why they eat their own lips. They never stop being hungry.”

“Hungry for human flesh, naturally.” Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Naturally.” Andy agreed, handing Patrick the handle side of a knife. He took it in his hand, brandishing it with the thumb curved beneath it in a fighting stance. Andy smiled solemnly down at him, when a booming sound rang through the kitchen.

The dishwasher, garbage can, and the cooling rack came flying away from the door as it burst open, the dishwasher catching Patrick in the stomach just as he stood up, knocking the wind out of him and sending him hurtling backwards into the stove, landing on top of the pile of bones.

“I thought you said I should be eating!” The girl whined in her high, cheerleader voice. Andy snarled, and Patrick heard the smack of flesh on flesh as he squeezed his eyes tight, working on convincing himself that the ground wasn’t spinning.

Andy grunted, and Patrick forced himself to open his eyes, see the girl holding Andy down in a kneeling position with her claws. Andy’s face was pointed upwards, and his jaw was slack as the girl leaned in to bite down on him. His knife had fallen useless to the ground, so Patrick ran forward, and after a running start, he kicked at her, meaning for it to be a high kick that would knock her out, but hitting her around her hip, just throwing her off balance enough for Andy to move out from under her. She let out a loud screech or anger as Andy tried to crawl away backwards. She reached out with both hands, digging her claws into both his and Patrick’s chests, pulling them in close to her. All five of her nails punctured inches deep into Patrick’s chest, holding him in a grip impossible to escape, and causing him to scream out in the nearly unbearable pain. Her bulky needle claws held him up slightly, tearing the flesh excruciatingly. She dragged the two up next to her chest with a loud hiss, and clenched her fists tighter and tighter until Patrick shut his eyes, giving in to the dizziness he had been trying so hard to fight off.

*****

When Patrick returned to consciousness, he could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. He thrashed for a moment, feeling the most uncomfortable bonds around his ankles, and realizing that he must have been hung upside down. His glasses were gone, and Andy was tied up next to him, twisting and writhing harder than seemed possible to Patrick.

“ ‘ndy?” Patrick breathed, his face hot and heavy from hanging upside down for what must have been a sizeable amount of time.

“Yeah, I’m right here.” Andy grunted, trying to twist his body up enough to get to the ropes, perhaps.

“Wuzgoinon?” Patrick slurred, trying to blink. He felt a hot liquid dripping down his face from his neck, and if it was presumably one of the wounds from earlier, not much time could have elapsed.

“Do you remember anything about what happened?” Andy asked. Patrick shook his head, unsure, and Andy sighed, still twisting violently. “Okay, so long story short, we’re in a wendigo’s lair, and I don’t know why she hasn’t yet, but I think she’s about to-”

“Eat you?” The nightmarishly perky voice returned. “Well duh, silly! I told you I was totally famished, right?” The girl, now missing her top lip as well so that it appeared as though she were always smiling a nightmare smile. “I mean, the waiter and manager in today were, like, the first people I’ve had all week! I can’t believe that what’s his face had the nerve to try and tell you guys to leave, but then again, one of them smelled like dog, so he wouldn’t have been that good anyway.” She sighed theatrically.

“His name was Adam, it’s on the tag of the fucking shirt you stole!” Patrick yelled, and she tsked.

“Come on honey, don’t try and be noble now. I could tell how bad you wanted to run away when your friend was under attack. Give the chivalry a rest, ‘kay?” She chirped, patting him on the cheek.

“You know why he smelled like dog?” Andy asked, his voice strained.

“What, he was like, a werewolf or something?” She laughed. “Your buddies aren’t coming to save you, and if they were, I could hold my own. Thanks for your concern though, pal.”

Andy muttered something under his breath, and the girl leaned in close to him, cupping a hand around her ear and putting it right next to his mouth.

“What did you say?” She asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

“I said,” Andy said, much louder than he had before. “That you’re a bitch.” And with that, he pulled his hands free of their ties, grabbing her neck and pulling down with all his might. Patrick heard a snap, and saw her collapse on the ground, eyes and mouth frozen over in a position of shock as her head thunked and bounced on the linoleum. Andy breathed heavily for a moment, then leaned upward in an impossible display of strong abs. He untied the ropes around his ankles, and fell to the floor, groaning as he landed on his back. He began walking away, and Patrick cried out wordlessly. Andy turned with a tired smile.

“Relax, I’m going to get a knife from the drawer so this goes a bit faster, alright?” He said, and continued walking away. He wished the drawer weren’t so far away, as Andy had to walk out of his line of sight, and with the way she landed, Patrick couldn’t see the wendigo’s body anymore either. Patrick continued to feel nervous until Andy returned, cutting the ropes off his legs in a fluid motion and lowering him gently to the ground to cut his hand bonds. When he had finished, Patrick rolled over onto his back, lying on the sticky floor with his eyes closed. He lay there in the complete and utter stillness of exhaustion as the blood left his head, no longer pounding around his skull. He was in a state of perfect unmoving, one only achieved by living statues that were paid to never move, and people like Patrick, too tired to even breathe heavily. Andy must have laid down next to him, and they were simply still together, breathing deeply and letting the blood flow return to normal and letting the pounding in Patrick’s head grow quiet.

*****

 

“Your van’s fine.” The producer said, turning the key in the ignition and waiting a minute, letting the engine sputter to life. Joe mimicked the engine’s sputtering, staring in disbelief at the van that worked fine, suddenly.

“Next time, just call me if you need something. You’ll freeze to death out here.” The producer shook her head before climbing back into her truck and driving slowly away through the slush.

“Well that was a colossal waste of time.” Joe growled. He kicked the rim of the van’s front tire, and turned to go towards the restaurant.

“Come on man, what if the van’s haunted!” Pete teased. “Did you name her Christine? Did you make her angry.”

“Fuck off.” Joe pushed Pete over as they walked up to the door of the diner. He was nervous, honestly, about leaving Patrick and Andy alone together, but he should give the situation a chance, he told himself. Nothing that bad could happen, Andy wouldn’t risk it, he kept telling himself so, anyway.

He pushed open the door with a loud creak to find the diner empty and the strong scent of blood assaulting his nose. Joe’s shoulders pulled back, his muscles tensed and his teeth bared defensively as he scanned the diner from his stance. The booth where they had been sitting at earlier was sprayed with blood, and a the porcelain pieces of a mug were shattered on the floor.

“Fuck.” Pete whispered, and Joe sprinted across the diner to where the smell was coming from strongest, the kitchen, As the door burst open, his heart dropped out of his chest. The floor and walls were spattered in gore, bones flung out around the stove, and lying in front of it, unmoving and soaked in blood, was Patrick. His vision went red as Andy walked out of a steel door in the back, presumably a walk in refrigerator, with a plastic bag in hand. Andy dropped the bag, holding up his hands in a position of surrender, and Joe lept across the room, snarling as he pinned Andy to the ground. Andy lay there, his head twisted away, but making no attempt to fend him off, which startled Joe just enough to make him pause.

“Stop being an idiot.” He heard Patrick call, and his head spun around to see Patrick sitting up and rubbing his head, covered in blood, but not apparently in mortal peril.

“‘trick!” Pete gasped, scooping him up into what looked like a painfully tight hug. Patrick groaned, and muttered “Ow ow ow, gently, ow.” Pete set him down, apologizing profusely, and started to gush over him, feeling for any serious wounds.

“Well I’m lost.” Joe admitted, standing up and begrudgingly helping Andy up as well.

“Um, our waitress was an indigo.” Patrick mumbled, trying to rub his eyes but only smearing them further.

“Wendigo.” Andy corrected. “Cannibal Native American monster, at least, I think she was a wendigo.”

“Okay.” Pete was pale and nearly hysterical looking. “Okay, let’s go sit down and you guys can tell us about your afternoon. The van’s not broken.” He laughed, and Patrick nodded, so they went out to the main section of the diner, slumping down in a booth on the opposite side of the room. Andy drearily recounted the tale, Pete and Joe looking sufficiently wide eyed and terrified. Joe kept stealing glances at Patrick, who seemed mostly bored as the story was retold, and nodded through most of it.

“Problem is,” Andy finished, “I don’t know how wendigos are properly meant to be killed, so I’m not sure how we’ll do that.”

“Well, chopping it up into pieces and burying the pieces keeps almost everything dead, so that’s a pretty good failsafe, right?” Pete suggested. It sounded right to Joe, though he wasn’t entirely sure why the wendigo wouldn’t stay dead as it was. It wouldn’t take too long, and at this rate, they could even head back to the studio for a few minutes to get a song done. It seemed reasonable. But he caught sight of Patrick, who looked miserable, and as though he were about to cry.

“Ca-” He cut himself off, swallowing, embarrassed. “Can we please just go home? Go back to sleep on what’s-her-faces floor and kill the wendigo properly in the morning?” Though Joe was inclined to want to chop up the bitch and move on, Andy nodded immediately.

“Yeah, good plan. After all, demon reforming and shit takes a few hours at least, right?” He asked, shrugging. Behind Patrick’s back, Joe gave Andy a look of disbelieving respect. Pete heaved a sigh, and they slid out of the booth for the last time that day, piling in the van and returning to their temporary basement home. Joe also couldn’t help but notice that Patrick curled up next to Andy that night as well.

 


	2. Punk Rock 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall Out Boy returns to Chicago after recording Take This To Your Grave, but the return gets a little rocky when they run into some very angry monsters...

“Will you look at that skyline?” Pete murmured as the tops of the skyscrapers began to be visible over the gray haze that hovered around the city of Chicago. Patrick hummed in appreciation as they drew nearer to the city, the Sears tower looming menacingly out over the foggy day, above all the murky clouds, piercing the delicate sky with it’s huge antenna. It was a frightening view, yet not to them, in the way that people can get used to the darkness of their closets, find familiarity in them.

“The fog makes it look kinda like Gotham.” Patrick said, speaking his internal monologue without realizing it had been said aloud.Having said it though, he decided to continue. “It’s so- I don’t know, phantasmagoric.”

“Home sweet home.” Joe agreed, his voice flat and disinterested, but thinly veiling his amusement. “Is Andy crashing at our place?” He asked, his tone cooler when he spoke about the drummer. Pete sighed to himself. Joe had been acting distant and rude to Andy for the past four days, since the unfortunate incident of Andy almost killing Patrick. Life moved fast, and Joe was 18, Pete figured he’d have to get used to it eventually. If he constantly held grudges for near death experiences, he’d never have gotten anywhere. He also never would have gotten anywhere if anyone else held grudges for near death experiences he had caused, but that was beside the point.

“For a few nights?” Andy shrugged. “Not sure yet. I’ve got some friends, so I can couch surf while we do local shows, then it’ll be back to touring in, what, a month?”

“Probably.” Pete became gloomy again, no longer excited by his city’s skyline. It had been weeks of recording since he had seen Jeanae, and she would be upset. Again. Touring wasn’t exactly going to improve his standing with her, though it might be a selling point with her parents. He tried not to talk about it much in front of the band. The supported him in the obligatory way of friends, but it was without a doubt that they thought his relationship was weird. They weren’t wrong.

“You’re welcome at our place anytime.” Patrick told Andy, even though the stony silence from Joe told them all that it wasn’t true. Pete could literally feel the waves of distaste coming off of Joe, see his aura turn harsh and defined on the subject of Andy. Perks of being a magical creature, he was pretty aware of emotion. Luckily for him, he was too strong willed to care if he upset people, in general. He had dated some girls that would have been driven to suicide over the guilt of seeing people’s emotions play out in this way. Probably Andy would too, the way he was eaten alive by guilt for the past week or so.

“I think I might go back to my mom’s house for a while.” Patrick said after a minute of tenuously comfortable silence. “Pick up some of my old stuff. Maybe buy holy water at the local church. Are we going to be seeing much more-” He twisted his hand sharply in the air. “demony stuff?”

“Well, you haven’t seen much demony stuff for all the beginning of your life, have you?” Joe snorted. Patrick heaved a sigh, leaning forward in a more direct position to speak.

“For one thing, I haven’t exactly believed in demons for the rest of my life.” He pointed out. “And for another thing, I did just almost get cannibalized a few minutes after I started believing in vampires. So following that trend, it leads me to believe that there will only be more encounters with non-human stuff.” Pete frowned, not looking back at Patrick. He would like to believe that there wouldn’t be any more issues like the wendigo, but Patrick made an excellent point. Once someone is aware of the supernatural, it tended to show up an awful lot more. “What lives in Chicago, anyway?” Patrick asked. Pete laughed aloud, a short bark of laughter, then stifled himself quickly.

“What doesn’t live in Chicago!” Pete chuckled. “Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, oh my. Fairies and demons and creatures of the night. Oh, and the kids who attend Rocky Horror. They’re fucked up.”

“Very funny.” Patrick said, not sounding at all amused. “You’re hilarious.”

“Look, you didn’t know Andy and Joe weren’t human, right?” Pete asked. “Most people are like that. You humans get picked on all the time, so you were designated one world to be safe and not live in fear of everybody else. A few mild, outcast demons ended up here as well, but this is your world. They’re not supposed to mess with you guys being the dominant species. We blend in, live like humans, hell, lots of people identify with humans. We’re just like you-”

“But with fangs.” Andy grinned, showing off his sharp teeth. Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Thanks for the tip. I’m gonna get holy water from my old church.” Joe chuckled from the front seat at Patrick’s disgruntled tone, and pulled off at the exit to the Loop.

“Why are we going downtown?” Pete asked, putting his hand on Joe’s shoulder as he leaned over him.

“No backseat driving.” Joe ordered. “We’re going to go look at rich people buying stuff and remember that we are getting paid. Real, actual money, to make music, and one day, we can go shopping on Michigan Avenue.”

“Doesn’t it strike you as  odd,” Andy began, “That the big street in Chicago is Michigan? Why not Illinois? Or, you know, Chicago? What the hell does Michigan have to do with anything?”

“The unprecedented success of Marshall Fields?” Patrick guessed. “I don’t think that it’s predetermined which streets will be the business hubs.

“You’re totally killing the silent buzz of career in music. Bask in it.” Joe ordered, rolling through the streets downtown. They remained quiet for a minute, until Pete interrupted the pause.

“Can you leave me at the next L station?” He asked, and Joe gave him a strange look.

“Aren’t you coming back to the apartment?” He asked. Pete shook his head, too distracted to ride in a car any longer.

“Nah, I’ll meet you back there. I need to walk, clear my head.” He explained. Joe shrugged, but gestured for Pete to jump out next time they were by an L. Irrelevant, it seemed to him, was the fact that the van was three lanes into the street. Pete jumped out and dashed across the street before the light could turn green, and heard Joe yell out the window behind him “You’re carrying your own shit in tonight!” Pete probably should have gone to see Jeanae, but the city was so familiar and welcoming, he had to just wander around for a bit. He walked for at least a half hour, his face turning brittle in the icy bursts of wind that tunneled through the narrow streets, but stumbled past the warm cafe windows, not searching for warmth. In a short amount of time and one quick train ride, he found himself knocking on a familiar brown door.

“Goddamn it.” Chris said as soon as he opened the door. He moved to shut it again, but Pete slammed his foot in the crack. Chris grinned at him, and pulled him into a tight hug, lifting him up slightly and pulling him into the dingy apartment.

“How was recording?” He asked, going into the kitchen and putting on a kettle.

“Pretty good.” Pete said. “The album’s nice. We’re getting an advance from Island.” Chris stared.

“Shit man, that’s, um, incredible.” He said.

“I told the band that I’m a magic pixie and Patrick nearly got his blood drained by Andy and we killed a wendigo.” Pete continued.

“Island as in Def Jam?” Chris asked. “Aren’t you guys hippies that don’t believe in selling out?”

“I think we have to have fans to sell out, and Patrick is traumatized and Joe won’t speak to Andy because he thinks all vampires are murderers.”

“That could be potentially problematic for a major record label if you guys hate each other.” Chris mused.

“I know. Andy is forever trying to make amends, and due to killing the wendigo that, coincidentally, was also trying to kill Patrick, now Patrick only feels safe around him in a fucked up codependent form of PTSD.”

“If you’re with a major label, do you no longer get to pick who you tour with? Cause I know a band that could really use a boost.”

“My entire band is made up of mythical creatures.”

“Could be a selling point, though.”

“Do you hear yourself when you speak?” Pete asked, and Chris chortled.

“You don’t have to keep yourself up all night wondering when you’re gonna tell them anymore.” Chris said. “That’s good, isn’t it? And I’m certain Patrick and Joe will get used to, you know, everything.”

“I don’t want them to get used to it.” Pete groaned. “I want them to not have to deal with it.”

“Tough shit man.” Chris said. “They’re gonna have to. Have you heard this rumour about a land siren in Nevada?”

“What?” Pete asked,his attention drawn away for a moment.

“Yeah, they say there’s this high schooler whose mom thought his power was ‘of the devil’, so she moves her whole family into the middle of the desert, and his power manifests into control of land, and even freshwater.” Chris spoke animatedly, his hands practically shaping the words as his eyes danced with light. “How nuts is that?”

“Very.” Pete agreed. “But didn’t you tell me last time that there were mermaids in Lake Michigan?”

“There ARE mermaids in Lake Michigan.” Chris said. “Look, dude, cat’s out of the bag, and there’s no helping that. But at least you can make him aware of the dangers now.”

“I guess.” Pete leaned up against the wall, putting his face in his hand. “I was going for more of a Batman, silent protector thing.” He said into his palm. Chris laughed at him, and dragged some chairs out of the kitchen, letting them clunk on the already scuffed beyond repair floor. The eerie, prestorm light was beginning to stream through the windows, giving the room a yellow pallor without any lights being on inside. Pete collapsed into one chair, Chris in the other, and Pete set the beer that had been pressed into his palm down onto the floor.

“I’ll pass.” He said, letting his weight fully fall into the chair so as to put absolutely no effort into sitting up.

“So, as Chicago’s big supernatural informant-” Chris started. Pete interrupted him with a withering gaze.

“I don’t think I actually qualify as all of Chicago.” He said, but Chris continued.

“As Chicago’s big supernatural informant,” He repeated, only raising his voice slightly, “I feel like I should know this story about a wendigo up in Milwaukee.”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re trying to get me drunk.” Pete said. “It wasn’t bad for me, but I wasn’t really there. I mean, I was there, but not in the building.”

“Very helpful.” Chris said. “What happened?”

“The van wouldn’t start, so Joe and I went to get some help, Patrick and Andy went back inside and their waitress ate her own lip in front of them then tried to string them up for dinner. I guess,” Pete paused, then smiled with a sudden realization. “I guess you could say that she bit off more than she could chew.” He grinned lazily, and Chris stood up suddenly, pointing at the door solemnly.

“Get out.” Chris said, and Pete roared with laughter, practically falling out of his chair. “It wasn’t even funny, goddamn.” Chris groaned. “Puns are usually good, I feel like you didn’t even try.”

“I didn’t, that’s the beauty of it.” Pete said, proud of himself. Chris sat back down, brushing his hair back from his eyes.

“So, did Andy go crazy vampire skill on the wendigo before or after Patrick knew he wasn’t human?”

“After.” Pete said. “Also, you know how we had no idea what Andy was?”

“Yeah?” Chris raised his eyebrows patiently.

“Well get this; he’s Blade!” Pete exclaimed. Chris looked confused, and he elaborated quickly. “Like, his mom was bitten when she was pregnant with him, and now he’s half vampire, which is why he can go out in the sun.”

“Well fuck.” Chris said. “I was banking on the pollution blocking out the sun over Chicago.”

“Do you owe anyone money on that bet?” Pete asked. Chris glared at him, and he laughed again. “I can’t believe it. You deserve to lose that anyway, shouldn’t make sport of other people’s lives.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the king of ethics.” Chris muttered. “How’s Jeanae?”

“I’m gonna assume that that question was completely unrelated to the statement.” Pete told him. “And she’s good. I think. Haven’t seen her yet.”

“Good luck with that.” Chris stretched, leaning back in his chair. “Is that where you’re going tonight?”

“If I’ve got time.” Pete looked around in vain for a clock, then out the window to guess the time. It had to be after noon, but the storm moving in had obscured the sun to nothing but the odd ray of acid yellow light, oozing between the cracks in the clouds. “We’ve got a gig tonight.”

“Ah, you’re first Island records band gig.” Chris waved spirit fingers at Pete. “Will you pop champagne afterwards?”

“Maybe so.” Pete said. “Aren’t big corporations not supposed to condone such unhealthy tendencies as alcohol?” Chris laughed at him, and Pete laughed as well. Much as he loved his band, the past few days had been pervaded by a gloom that he knew was because of how weird it was. It wasn’t as though they had trouble getting along before. Chris may have been right, Pete thought. Maybe it was better this way, if something unfriendly came after one of them. After all, the awkwardness would have to go away eventually, he told himself. He stayed at Chris’ place for most of the afternoon, and by the time it was pitch black and storming furiously outside, he figured that he should probably head back to his own place.

Outside, though winds were blowing fiercely, no snow or rain was pounding down on the concrete the way that Pete would have expected. The clouds hanging low were dark and menacing, bulging with precipitation, but the streets were as dry as in a summer heatwave. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Pete still struggled up to the nearest bus station he could find, fighting back the awful and immensely powerful wind. Halfway there, a woman screeched as the wind blew back her umbrella, snapping its metal ribs like twigs and rendering it useless. By the time Pete sat down on the bus, his hair was blown comically back from his face. He attempted to smooth it down as they drove, gazing out the window as people rushed into stores or leaned on posts, trying to brave the wind as they failed to even come close to hailing a taxi. One man looked so frustrated that he started screaming, but still only held out his thumb like a hitchhiker. It was easy, Pete knew, even in Chicago, to look like a tourist, no matter how hard you tried to hide the fact.

As they passed an old building outside the university, lighting flashed suddenly in the sky, jolting Pete back an inch in surprise. In the split second of heavy light, it almost appeared as though the gargoyles guarding the old stone building leered at him. In fact, in Pete’s mind, which he assumed must have been addled from the long hours of driving and worrying, he could picture the gargoyle closest to himself smile at him, a terrible smile of long, stone teeth dripping saliva in eagerness to sink into bare flesh. In the darkness following the flash, he pressed his nose to the cold glass, cupping his hands around his eyes in an attempt to see through the reflective window, but the gargoyle was very still, and facing a different direction, which was admittedly disconcerting. Still, he knew the old stone facades in this town like the back of his hand, and they did little to frighten him now.

He got let out only vaguely close to the apartment, braving the now painful wind, stinging his face no matter how high and tight he tried to pull his hoodie around it. He shuddered with relief as he stepped into the old building, still shivering when he walked into the living room.

“Where’ve you been all afternoon?” Joe asked, not looking up from the book he was reading. “Patrick was frightened that the wind had blown you into the lake. Which got me wondering, if you’re a fairy, do have those bird bones, you know, how birds have got hollow bones for flying and stuff?”

“I don’t have wings, asshole.” Pete shouted at him, walking into the kitchen and opening the refridgerator door. It was, as he could have predicted, almost completely empty. There was a jar of a strange type of fancy mustard that had been a gift from someone’s mom, a really moldy bag of lettuce that probably had a few civilized colonies growing inside of it, and one lone can of dented grape soda. He made a disappointed noise in his throat, shutting the door with a huff and opening the cupboard to find it almost as empty. There was a package of ramen left, so he turned on the stove, ripping the bag open with his teeth.

“I see you’ve noticed the kitchen.” Patrick said, walking by. “Your turn to go shopping.”

“Not even.” Pete snapped. “I went before we left.”

“Yeah, and we got food in Milwaukee!” Patrick said. Joe chuckled from the other room, and Pete decided to give up. He was better at grocery shopping anyway.

“Do we have time for food anyway?” Patrick asked. “We’re supposed to be at Excalibur in an hour, I think.”

“Dude,” Pete’s eyes widened, “We’re playing at Excalibur?”

“Yep.” Patrick told him. “Probably a gift from the label or something, but who knows? Point is, it’s a good crowd.”

“Rather than twenty or so kids that went to high school with you.” Joe continued. Pete nodded, stirring the noodles absentmindedly. He had been to Excalibur once, a club totally filled with bright rainbow lights and makeup. He had assumed it was a gay bar at first, but it seemed later that no one was very picky about who they grinded on. The club had a medieval aesthetic going for it, it was made in an old stone building with swords on the wall and private rooms full of tapestries and heavy armchairs, even a suit of armor in the corner, but all this clashed a bit with the neon disco balls and bass heavy dance music. It did, however, have an incredibly large turn out every night, which was the entire point. Pete hurried to eat the still crunchy ramen, now eager to show up. It seemed like the perfect night to be locked away in a castle.

******

Andy had, apparently, arrived early. Though it looked like it was night outside to him, the doors to the nightclub were shut firmly. Excalibur was, no more so than much of Chicago, daunting. The building claimed to be an old castle, though the refurbishments inside begged to differ. However, it was large and stone, with great wooden doors, maybe oak, but more likely synthetique. As he walked up the stone steps, he could nearly imagine he was walking up to a castle on a dark and stormy night. At least it wasn’t raining, though he knew he shouldn’t think that way, he’d only end up with a downpour.

Andy lifted a knocker and let it drop, clanging with a resounding boom on the door. Perhaps it was real wood, he thought, it certainly resonated like it. A man with shaggy black hair and have closed eyes peaked out of the door.

“We aren’t open yet.” He said, yet he opened the door wider. “Are you with the band?”

“Yeah.” Andy said, relieved as he nodded, “Yeah, I am.”

“Fantastic, the rest of them came in the back entrance.” He stepped aside. “Please, come in.”

“Thanks.” Andy said, ascending the last few steps, then turning back as he thought he heard a flurry of movement. He realized the ridiculousness of his notion as he turned to face the increasingly busy street behind him, since he was in Chicago, and it was nearing rush hour, and walked quickly inside.

“Was it the gargoyles?” The worker asked sympathetically. Andy blinked confusedly, and turned to him.

“What gargoyles?” He asked.

“Well, we just got them in today, and they’re supposed,” He emphasized the word through his teeth, suddenly annoyed. “To stand guard on either side of the door. Unfortunately, no one thought about the fact that we need something for them to sit on, so they’re just sort of hiding in the busher now. Figured it might have spooked you or something. It’s not doing anything for business.”

“I didn’t notice them.” Andy assured him, and walked back where the man gestured with a wave of his hand to the tiny stage where the others were setting up.

“Alas, my brethren.” Joe sighed, placing a hand on his forehead. “Major record label aside, we still don’t have groupies to unload our heavy equipment for us.”

“Groupies?” Andy raised his eyebrow. “Sure you don’t mean roadies?”

“I’m sure. I’ve been a roadie, they’re far less pleasant.” Joe’s reply was gruff, but he carried out the joke before turning from Andy to unknot a cable. Which, Andy thought to himself, was an improvement. He easily caught the obscenely heavy amp that Joe tossed to him, as Patrick stared in jealous disbelief.

“Fucking…” He muttered, trailing off as he went back to untangling chords. When he saw Pete do the same, Patrick sat on the edge of the stage, reclining backwards in a bored position.

“Come on princess, we’ll stop showing off.” Joe coaxed, smirking at him. Patrick blinked innocently behind his glasses.

“Oh, no, wouldn’t it go so much faster if you and your super strength took care of it?” He reasoned, then bat his eyelashes, adopting a strong southern twang. “It’s so hard doing all this heavy liftin myself when there’s so many big, strong, manly men around here.”

“Hey asshole, I don’t have any super strength on my side.” Pete said, poking Patrick in the stomach. “I just work harder. Now give us a hand.”

Patrick went back to work with the other, and Andy enjoyed the silence for about a minute before someone in the club turned on loud rave music, the volume they would need for a packed venue, and not for four guys setting up. He continued, though slightly more annoyed, as the too heavy bass thumped under their feet.

Within minutes, the club began buzzing about with harried looking workers in their mid twenties, scurrying around and filling coolers with ice, trying to keep the clash of elegant on trashy in full bloom. Andy found it rather amusing to watch, looking like an old slapstick comedy with no sound as the speakers blasted too powerfully for anyone to hear at all.

As Andy was hiding behind the stage for a moment to shield himself from the noise and breathe, he saw a flicker in the shadows, just noticeable enough to not be a flickering of the light. He walked over to the shadow, his senses working overtime so that he could hear everything, even through the thrumming of synth that bounced off the walls. Only a few steps closer to the shadow and Andy could see it- a monstrous looking gargoyle, with long, thick teeth, and cracked stone wings, pulled around itself as though for warmth.

Its cement gaze was clearly fixed on Andy. He couldn’t see it move, but he could hear the low growl rumbling out of it, and feel the anger pulsating from the beastly creature, tall enough to reach Andy’s waist while sitting on its haunches. He turned on his heels, sprinting towards the light and over to the stage where a haggard looking woman was trying to instruct the band over the music. Andy skidded to a halt in front of them, breathing heavily and glancing back at the gargoyle. It hadn’t moved, but it’s eyes narrowed when it saw Andy looking.

“Okay, we’re gonna need you to be light, but heavy, you know?” She said, seeming to ignore Andy’s skidding entrance, her hand bouncing up and down. The guys stared at her, and Joe told her that it didn’t make sense. She threw her hands up in the air, and repeated. “You know the kind of crowd we have here, so light, but heavy, you get it?”

“Totally.” Pete said, giving her a thumbs up, then rolling his eyes dramatically when she walked away. “So, just the usual then?” He asked, and suddenly turned sharply to Andy. “What happened?”

“I think there’s a gargoyle trying to kill me.” Andy said mildly. Pete swore.

“I thought I was imagining it.” He said, angry. He kicked at the stage and ran his hand through his hair. “Well, we’ll play the set and deal with it after we leave. We’re safe until we go outside anyway.”

“Sorry,” Patrick interjected, his expression filled with confusion. “I think I’m missing something? Gargoyles?”

“I’m on the same page as you.” Joe said, and they looked expectantly over at Andy and Pete. Or, Joe focused on Pete, Patrick’s eyes flickered between the two.

“Gargoyles were created to protect the human race.” Andy said after a moment of silence. “They’re guards outside buildings to make sure that people like me don’t get in.”

“It’s probably following us because Patrick got injured.” Pete guessed.

“I’m not injured!” Patrick said hotly.

“You’ve got wicked scars all up your chest and neck, and you’re getting followed by a vampire. What are they supposed to think?” Pete shrugged. Andy, felt a pang of annoyance. He couldn’t deny it, of course, but he didn’t like to think this was his fault.

“That I’m not dead so clearly the vampire isn’t trying to do people in?” Patrick suggested. He still looked vaguely offended, which was kind of amusing to watch.

“You could be like, the vampire’s blood slave!” Joe teased, hulking over Patrick with his shoulders raised and his hands shaped like claws out in front of him. Patrick flinched away and laughed, shoving Joe in the chest and calling him a dick.

“Please be serious, gargoyles are a very formidable enemy.” Pete said smoothly. Patrick looked up at him, blinking confusedly.

“‘Enemy’?” He repeated. “It’s just a mythical creature like you guys, right? We explain that I’m safe and it goes away.”

“Not quite.” Pete said, and Andy turned sharply to look at the shadowy corner. He probably imagined it, the music was much too loud to hear anything, but he swore the gargoyle growled at him, a rumble escaping it’s sneer and directed just at him. He felt fear twist inside him like an icy hand rooting through his chest, and shuddered to himself. Just the appearance of the creature was enough to frighten him onto the straight and narrow. Being hunted by it was a thought that made his hands shake, as the stone eyes glared steadily at him. He wondered if they could possibly explain the situation to it. After all, most of Patrick’s scars hadn’t even come from him. All of his chest and most of his neck wounds came from wendigo claws, that was easy to tell for anyone that had experience with vampires. Pete’s voice jarred Andy out of his hopeful thoughts. “... not the most intelligent species at the best of times, they only really worked with Europe and their whole honorable, uniform wearing battles. America is really where guerilla warfare took root, and see, these creatures are a European invention, so it’s understandable why they don’t get that. All they see is an injured human and three non humans by it.”

“That’s very simpleminded thinking.” Patrick argued. Andy had been thinking the same, but Pete scoffed at him.

“It’s Eurocentric thinking, to be perfectly honest. I love western culture and all, but nobody really thought out how a new landscape might affect their old myths.” A crash came from behind them, and Andy jumped when he could no longer see the gargoyle in its shadowed corner. He soon realized that it had moved to just behind the stage, its growl closer and deeper than before. Joe coughed.

“Going back to three non humans.” He interjected. “Is it safe to assume that he’s not just after Andy?”

“That,” Pete said, inhaling deeply, “That would be an excellent assumption.”

“Should we be doing something then?” Patrick asked nervously. He seemed the least affected, as Andy could see both Pete and Joe looked shaken and pale. He wondered if Patrick could hear the growls.

“No, we should be safe for the show.” Pete said, though he sounded unsure. “But the longer we stay around people, the better.”

“Excalibur closes at three.” Joe informed them. Pete nodded tightly.

“We can stay that long.” He decided.

“What about after?” Andy asked. Pete shrugged, and Andy closed his eyes, trying to remain calm and thoughtful. The statue wasn’t that large, but it was made of stone, and Andy most definitely was not. Still, there were three of them and one of it, so the odds were technically in their favor.

A bustling worker ustled them to a back room where she said they could wait for an hour or so for the club to fill up. This was also new to them, they usually played before anyone came in. Andy realized with a jolt as they followed her back that they would not, in fact, be around other humans for the next hour. By the tight set of Pete’s mouth, he had probably already realized this. She opened the door and then scurried away, off to set up something else, and Patrick closed the door behind her, looking in a panic to the rest of them.

“So much for that plan.” Patrick said, and a loud banging sound came from the door.

“I can’t kill a piece of stone with my bare hands.” Andy voiced his worry aloud. Joe turned and gazed at him with narrow eyes.

“Can you kill a piece of stone at all? It is, after all, stone.” Joe snipped. The door banged heavily again, and Pete jumped back. “Heh. You could get it stoned.” He chuckled to himself, though he still looked nervous to Andy.

“Concrete, I think, they look kinda cheap.” Andy suggested. The door banged again, louder slightly, and they heard a growl of a slightly higher pitch.

“Is it- is it offended?” Joe asked, staring at the door in disbelief. Andy nodded unsurely, biting his lip.

“Um.” Andy said, uncertainty coloring his voice. “You’re not cheap looking?” The door banged again, this time the wood splintered in the middle and began to press in. Andy jumped back, and as an afterthought, flung his arms out in front of the others. His arms knocked the wind out of both Pete and Patrick when he hit them in their chests, but upon turning, saw Joe in the back corner of the dressing room, getting undressed.

“What are you doing?” Andy asked. Joe didn’t even glance at him, grabbing his t shirt by the base of his neck and pulling it over his head in one fluid motion as he stepped out of his jeans.

“I always wondered if clothes came with transformations.” Pete said, by means of Joe’s explanation. Joe rolled his eyes.

“Of course the clothes don’t come with transformations, it’s not a cartoon, and that doesn’t even make sense. Unless the clothes were actually growing off me, which would be equally terrifying.” Joe mused, looking distant for a second, then pulled off his boxers as his whole body rippled, the skin on his chest shivering for a moment before it pulled, stretching mesmerizingly as all the hair on his arms and legs lengthened. Andy stared at one patch of his skin in rapt attention, and hardly noticed the rest of the transformation, suddenly seeing a wolf standing in the corner, its teeth bared in a snarl.

“Oh god, why did you bleach your hair?” Patrick asked, Pete braying with laughter beside him. Joe rumbled at them, and Andy tried his hardest to keep a straight face. The fur covering the wolf’s head was all a pale, white-blonde, where all the rest of the animal was covered in dark brown, nearly black hair.

“Well,” Pete laughed, still clutching his sides. “It certainly eased you into seeing a werewolf transformation.” Patrick opened his mouth, probably to remark about not needing to be eased, when the booming sound came from the door again, this time louder, and with more cracking, the door nearly splitting in the middle.

Patrick’s face sobered out immediately and he stepped aside to let Joe walk by. The wolf’s teeth were all displayed, a large leer that put any discovery channel special to shame. Pete and Patrick could laugh if they wanted, but staring at the wolf, Andy could see that it was dangerous. A natural born predator, so not dissimilar to him. Joe crouched in front of the door, crouched in a fighting stance.

Another crash hit the door, and the door split open, spilling wood and chips of paint onto the floor. On the other side, a stone gargoyle sat, unmoving and frozen like any other statue.

Andy, for a moment, wanted to believe that maybe this was a stupid practical joke being played on them, and very efficiently at that, when the statue blinked, it’s cement eyelids closing down with a sound audible to Andy, a grinding sound, some rock particles falling down onto the splinters of wood, and when it’s eyes opened again, they were no longer stone, but a glowing orange/gold, a color that burnt like embers of a dying fire. Patrick blanched behind him, his eyes widening as he stared into the coals that lit the creature’s face.

Joe snarled at it, launching forward and pressing his paws down onto the forehead, but succeeded only in springboarding off the gargoyle and launching back. It made a guttural moan, a grinding, halting sound, and pulled its lips further back onto its face. Joe lurched towards it again, clamping his jaws around the shoulder of the gargoyle. He whined with the exertion, but pulled away to a chunk of stone falling onto the floor.

Andy looked over his shoulders, thankful to see Patrick pulling Pete farther back into the dressing room, away from their attacker. The gargoyle appeared now to be trembling, moving very little. After a moment or two, Joe began circling it, and when he got behind the gargoyle, it let out a monstrous roar, the sound of boulders crashing and a high pitched scream, nearly splitting Andy’s ears with the sound. He pressed his hands to his ears, and in no time at all, the statue was on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

It hissed, a few drops of near boiling saliva landing on Andy’s cheek as the increasingly familiar rumbling of stones was heard from just above him. The teeth were inches from his face, it was wounded, and angry, and though it couldn’t possibly be breathing, Andy imagined hot breath on his face. He reached up, trying to push it off, but the stone claws had him pinned so to the floor that it’s claws were digging into the ground beneath him. Andy struggled, under its weight, pressing up with all his force, and the gargoyle barely budged.

Andy squirmed, trying instead to loosen itself from the steely grip when he couldn’t move the statue, but all to no avail. He finally stared at it, the glowing eyes mesmerizing him as he stared, when the gargoyle pulled away suddenly, its rumbling roar of indignation loud and apparent.

“Come on!” Pete yelled, throwing a heavy bottle of hairspray that had been left behind on the vanity. He and Patrick were, as far as Andy could see, throwing old makeup at the gargoyle. It shuddered, and in the blink of an eye, it disappeared from the room.

Joe transformed back into a human, working his jaw up and down as he put his clothes back on.

“How come it’s afraid of hairspray rather than a fucking werewolf?” Joe spat, rubbing at his jaw. “That fucking hurt.”

“Sharp is for the flesh. You bit down on solid concrete.” Pete said, shaking his head.

“That it then? It’s dead? Just like that?” Andy asked.

“Yes Andy, we killed an ancient stone guardian with disused cans of hairspray.” Patrick snapped. “I think we just succeeded in making it angy. Seeing how it is missing a chunk of it’s back and all.”

“Coming back with friends?” Joe asked wearily. Pete nodded grimly, and Joe collapsed down into a cushy armchair, courtesy of the dressing room. It looked very flamboyant in there, Andy noted, apart from the broken pieces of wood scattered about. It was all vibrant colors and makeup stains, drapes and veils hanging from the panelling. Glitter was strewn on the floor with the dust that had fallen off the gargoyle. He self consciously brushed his hand down his back, and sure enough, it came away with glitter on it. He shook his head, trying to shake out some of the dust, but no doubt it didn’t do much.

“How long do you suppose we have?” Patrick asked, brushing a piece of hair behind his ear. “Don’t gargoyles usually come in pairs? You know, one on either side of the doorway, typical sentry stuff?”

“Shit,” Pete murmured, “They do, don’t they?”

“Club’s filling up though.” Joe added. “Could be that they can’t get through that many people, not all at once.”

“Let’s be cautiously optimistic then. We don’t really have any other options.” Pete said, sitting down on the ground. Andy would have pointed out that sitting on glitter wasn’t going to help his fairy reputation, but it was too late anyway. He pulled a section of the drapes the trailed on to the floor out a bit to sit on, and Patrick followed his example.

They all sat in silence for a while, fidgeting a bit, and mostly staring at the door. The room must have been an inner one, because there were no windows, and the walls seemed thick enough, but nothing passed the door. Patrick was the first one to bring up the fact of “how the hell will we pay to fix the door or for that matter explain why the door is broken?” but no one seemed very worried about this issue. It seemed a very small detail to Andy, since he was being hunted down by a monster, but he understood Patrick’s sentiment. It was a nice door. It looked like it was hard wood, all the way through. It was a pricey door, but they didn’t have the time to worry about it.

Thankfully for them, the next time someone came in, it was a woman telling them they could go onstage. She stuttered and stared in horror at the splinters of the door, but seemed more eager to get them playing.

Once they were on stage, Andy felt perfectly safe, more than he had been since he walked into the club in the first place. It was easy to play, to follow the set like any normal night, and the venue was fantastic. He wasn’t sure how much people were actually paying attention, if they were at all, but they did cheer a lot, and it was fun to be up there, and after a song and a half, Andy was even able to push the thought of the gargoyle out of his head for the rest of the show. Still, all too soon Pete announced that they were playing their last song, and he fumbled a bit, trying to keep up as his palms grew slippery with nervous sweat. Had they played that many songs at all?

Pete gave him a severe nod, and they carried off their instruments in silence. Patrick buzzed a bit about the show, how great it had been, and eventually let it die out.

“Do you guys have any sort of plan?” Patrick asked after they had sat in stony silence for a minute.

“Any bright ideas?” Pete asked. He looked peevish, and Patrick glared right back at him.

“Well you three can’t just spend the rest of your lives running from a statue. Or multiple statues, because, hey, statues are everywhere.” Patrick glared out at them. “So we have obvious answers here that you’re missing. Firstly, they don’t just kill magical creatures, or you all would have been dead quite a while ago. Chicago has some gothic statues to rival a Tim Burton movie. Why are they just now trying to kill you?”

“Because you have scars on your neck and I’m obviously a vampire.” Andy snapped. “It’s not hard to piece together.”

“No, that doesn’t make sense.” Patrick argued. “It would only be trying to attack you, and in any case, that implies that they have some sort of logic, and don’t just kill senselessly. Why can’t we try explaining the situation?”

“You try talking to it!” Andy shouted, and Patrick huffed.

“Fine then, I will!” He said, and stalked out of the dressing room. The others paused for a moment, frozen, then ran out after him.

*****

Patrick began weaving through the crowd of the nightclub, thoroughly pissed off by his bandmates. The sight of a gargoyle trying to kill someone was terrifying, to say the least, but at least it would listen to reason, and probably wouldn’t try to eat him, if they were right about statues protecting humanity.

He pushed past the sweaty crowd of people, practically a wall of flesh moving all in strange synchronization under the neon lights. They pulsated as one, a really disturbing image, and even harder to walk through, when the crowd would suddenly pull to the left or right, sending him stumbling over that way as they all swayed, probably too high to notice the disturbing unison. Patrick did find a way to make it to the entrance, however, and pushed through the entry hall, thanking the doorman as he opened the huge, wooden door to the weird castle building.

Stepping into the cold night air, Patrick breathed in deeply, letting the sharp and wintry air pierce his lungs, a welcome pain after the suffocatingly hot night club. He sat down on the front steps, looking around for a moment, without seeing much of anything other than the steady stream of cabs flowing down the street in front of him. He waited there for a moment, soaking up the cold night as he sat, too relieved to be out of the room to think.

Panic struck him suddenly with a thought: What if the creature had gone around the back? He had sort of been banking on his own presence keeping his friends somewhat safe from the giant stone monsters. He stood up, whipping around and running back up the steps, but he paused at the door when he heard a low, yet ferociously loud growl behind him. Patrick turned around slowly, seeing not a gargoyle behind him, but two huge stone lions.

“What?” Patrick asked aloud, but then shook his head, speaking again “Don’t go in there. I don’t know if you’re like the gargoyles, but how many living statue personalities can there be, right? Anyway, I’m totally fine, not injured or anything.” The lions didn’t move, and Patrick grew nervous, his speech descending into rambling. “I mean, I am injured, but that wasn’t Andy’s fault or anything. See, we were recording and he took me out to apologize for- well nothing, I mean, there was this wendigo, and-” Patrick’s words were cut off when one of the lions roared at him. He stared at it with wide eyes, and the lion pounced on him.

Patrick screamed, nearly flattened down onto the steps as the huge cement paws held him into place beneath them. He didn’t feel any skin break, but the weight of the statue knocked the air out of his lungs, and pinned him painfully to the jagged stairs. The lion on top of him opened its mouth and roared again, the air escaping its maw blowing Patrick’s hair back, and smelt of diesel and cigarettes.

“Where is the vampire?” The lion demanded in a loud and, Patrick hated even thinking it, but gravelly voice. He laughed nervously, nearly hysterical laugh, and the lion atop him growled, putting more pressure on the paws holding him down. He squeaked, slightly, before he spoke.

“I personally see no reason why I should need to tell you.” Patrick said stubbornly. “He hasn’t done any harm.” The lion growled, then digging its claws into Patrick’s back. He cried out as he felt his skin be pierced and blood escape it.

“Wow!” Patrick gasped, unable to catch his breath and acutely aware of his own blood spilling onto the steps. “Aren’t gargoyles and  shit supposed to keep us safe? Because you have to be the shitties protector of humans I have ever-”

“Foolish mortal!” The lion rumbled, and Patrick was yet again sent into droves of laughter.

“Did you actually just call me a foolish mortal?” He chuckled. “Jesus. This is just too good. I didn’t think that ‘foolish mortal’ was said outside of bad adaptations of Dracula.”

“You are too foolhardy to even dream of the protection of such noble guardians!” The lion roared, its stone moving to fit the speaking movement as naturally as one could expect of stone. “You are a testament to the conceit of your own race! We come for purposes greater than your petty scars!”

“What do you mean by scars?” Patrick asked, trying to keep the conversation rambling so that the lions couldn’t go inside the nightclub. “I mean, these’ll fade with time, right?” The lion made a deep, indignant sound in the back of its throat, and lifted one paw with which he tore a gash in Patrick’s chest. He cried out, and then whimpered slightly as the blood began soaking into his shirt.

“You do- you do protect the human race, right?” He stuttered out, feeling far less confident.

“A task which you are severely hindering!” It cried with a nod. Patrick let out a weak chuckle, unable to hold up his arm to staunch the bleeding, as it was still pinned down by the creature.

“Now I shall ask you again!” It stated, its claws crunching into the stone steps just beneath Patrick’s shoulders. “Where is the vampire?”

“He wasn’t harming anyone!” Patrick spat up, holding his gaze steady with the lion’s stone eyes. It growled, low and menacingly, and then a scream was heard from inside.

“Quickly, go around the back.” The lion holding Patrick down ordered to it’s stonily silent partner. “I will guard this entrance and keep an eye on him.” The statue said with loathing.

“An eye, or a foot?” Patrick grumbled, not even trying to get out from under its grasp, for it would surely be impossible. He couldn’t tell who had screamed, but the club didn’t seem to have gotten any quieter, so perhaps it was just a scream of excitement? Ridiculous, but Patrick could hope. He could do little else.

“Why will you not simply tell me where the vampire is?” The lion asked after a moment.

“Because I told you, he hasn’t hurt anyone, and we don’t want your misplaced vigilante justice involved!” Patrick hissed, defiant in the only way he could be.

“I am aware that the vampire is innocent, though you seem rather insistent on his destruction.” The lion replied. Patrick paused for a moment, thinking.

“I’m lost.” He admitted. “Why do you want to know where he is?”

“We do not put the details of our affairs into the hands of mortals such as yourself!” The lion said in scorn, shaking its mane. It was odd to watch, the fur never exceeding the lines of the statue, yet clearly moving about. Patrick blinked, the vision almost hurting his eyes with its senselessness.

“Maybe if you tell me why you want to know, I can help you!” Patrick bargained. As the lion looked down in disgust, probably to say something else about the uselessness of mortals, the wooden door burst open and it snapped to attention.

“Patrick!” Pete yelled into the night, then he hissed in anger as he looked down at Patrick trapped beneath the lion on the steps.

“Fucking hell!” Joe stared at the lion, a ghostly green in the buzzing streetlight. “That’s-”

“A lion from the Art Institute.” Pete identified. “Well shit.”

“Perhaps one of you will have the common sense to tell me where the vampire is?” The lion suggested, pressing down more on Patrick’s shoulder. He refused to make noise; it was already a hostage situation without the added embarrassment of yelling for help.

“You’re a bit late.” Pete snapped. “He already got kidnapped by your gargoyle buddies.”  The lion looked down at Patrick, stricken.

“Then we are too late, as I had feared.” It sneered down at Patrick. “Perhaps this would not have happened, were you not so slow in revealing your friend’s whereabouts to me.”

“I assumed you were on the same side as the killer gargoyles. Forgive me for not discovering the difference in statues.” Patrick said, his voice a monotone of annoyance. The lion finally stepped off of him, and Patrick’s hands instantly flew to his chest. The cut wasn’t very deep, but it reopened one of the wounds he had received from the wendigo, so it was now bleeding rather heavily.

     "I did not scratch you that hard.” The lion said suddenly, its eyes narrowed. Patrick sighed, staring down at his shirt. It was ripped nearly in half, and was definitely ruined. He had really liked that shirt.

“You reopened old wounds.” He said, his tone blunt. Pete looked concerned, but Joe snickered, and told Patrick he looked like Shatner, in one of the many Star Trek episodes that his shirt was torn for some reason or another.

“Come now, we need to go and find your friend.” The lion said, perhaps to deter Joe from getting off on a tangent. “I am sorry about your injury.” It said to Patrick. “But you may need to wait to get it properly cared for, unless you wish to explain it in a hospital.”

“Well, by all means, don’t let my flesh wounds stop you from doing your job.” Patrick said, bitingly sarcastic, but the lion did not seem to notice.

“They slipped away.” the other lion said, causing Patrick to jump. It had appeared out of nowhere, and spoke in a soft, almost feminine voice. Its silence proved even more frightening than the other’s roars.

“We shall find them. After all, we have his scent.” The lion that had been holding Patrick down said. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Defiance, the lion on the south side of the institute. This is Prowl, the guard of the North. The names are a result of a poor sculptor trying to rationalize why the lions he sculpted were not symmetrical, but it has proved useful in our duties.”

“So, was your sculptor aware that he was carving magical lions to protect the human race, or was that just a really handy coincidence?” Joe asked. Defiance glared at him.

“You will soon come to find that everything has more meaning than it is often intended to have.” Prowl said softly, then knelt down. “You’re welcome to climb on.”

“Climb on?”

“We shall need your help now, of course.” Defiance said. “If we are to stop the gargoyles from doing your friend a grievous injury.”

“I think Joe and I missed a bit of the story.” Pete jumped in. “What exactly is going on?”

“The gargoyles which you have seen tonight have gone- shall we say, rogue?” Defiance explained. “They have been sent out more than their fair share, which I will admit, is partially our fault. They have developed a loathing for vampires, and decided that all of them should be killed. We would have stopped them far earlier, but there is a particularly troublesome nest down in Chinatown that we were hoping they would clear away first. Unfortunately for your friend, he returned to this city at the exact wrong time, and seemed to have attracted their attention. It is our job to help you in his safety now, because, as your friend insisted to me many, many times, he is an innocent, and that is who we fight to protect.” Patrick felt like screaming when the lion finished. Had one word of that gotten across to him, they could have been spared all this trouble, and the situation could be done with.

“You could have mentioned that.” He hissed under his breath, unable to stop himself. Defiance shot him a cold gaze.

“The fair folk are inherently more intelligent than humans. I find him to be a far more reasonable conversation partner.”

“Sorry for being so unreasonable after a granite lion pinned me down and threatened to claw my throat out!” Patrick half shouted, trying to stop himself from talking back, but too annoyed to make a sizable effort.

“We are made of copper!” Defiance said, looking affronted.

“Please, we have little time. Climb on.” Prowl suggested, voice low and appealing.

Following Prowl’s advice, Joe got on the back of her (Patrick now assumed it was a her). He looked uncomfortable, but he wrapped his arms around her neck, holding on tightly. Pete climbed up behind him, and Prowl stood up. Patrick realized, slightly too late, the implications of this.

“Um, I think maybe Pete and I could switch seats.” He said sharply as Defiance stretched downwards for him. Defiance looked almost regretful, for the first time that evening.

“I am sorry.” He said. “I did not mean to injure your body or your pride. But ours is a time constricted task. Please, place your trust in me.” He looked solemn and almost pleading. Patrick tried to focus on helping Andy, and climbed onto the back of the lion. He gasped in pain, and understood why Joe looked so uncomfortable. The metal was icy cold in the wintry air, and Patrick was almost shivering too hard to hold on tight when he threw his arms around the lion’s neck.

“I would suggest that you hold on tightly, but I think my advice would be unnecessary.” Defiance said dryly. Patrick made an ugly face the lion couldn’t see, then focused his grip more as the lions took off at a full sprint. Pete may have screamed, but it sounded more like laughter to Patrick, so he chose not to worry about it, and instead to close his eyes against the wind that was tearing at them. He bent his face low into the sculpture, pressing his face to the freezing metal to shield from the even colder wind. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, to say the least.

Still, even behind his eyelids, Patrick could see the colors of the streetlights shifting the range of light that came in anyway, and from the strobe like quality, combined with the gale force winds he was hiding from, they must have been going fast. Certainly faster than any car could go in the city. Lion must be a very efficient form of inner-city travel, if only the were invisible.

“Open your eyes!” Joe screamed at him, and Patrick only faintly heard it before the words were lost behind them, too speedy for them to be caught.

“They’ll freeze!” Patrick called back, but his voice was hoarse, and he doubted if the sound carried over. He tried to open his eyes as he looked to the side, but all he could see were trees and buildings blurring by, the lights barely streaks. He shut his eyes again, not doing much about the pain, but helping a bit.

After a few minutes, Pete asked how far they were going, but if there was an answer, Patrick couldn’t hear it. The lights were fewer and farther between, and he hoped they were just going so fast that they had left the main city, not that he was blacking out or something equally perilous.

At long last, the lions stopped running, and Patrick fell off of Defiance, landing on the ground and inhaling air deeply. The cold that had been so welcome just minutes ago now felt like it was going to choke him and prevent him from taking in any breath.

“Are you alright?” Defiance asked him, looking concerned. Patrick found that he was still annoyed, and so he glared at the statue, then walked over to Pete, slithering his arms into Pete’s coat, with Pete still in it.

“You’re bleeding on me.” Pete complained, but he pulled the coat around Patrick’s back anyway.

“s’cold as fuck.” Patrick mumbled.

“You’re wearing a hoodie in February.” Pete pointed out. “We’re never gonna make you last through the winter if you keep this up.”

“You’re warm.” Patrick said, attempting to rationalize. He shivered violently, but tried to keep his shaking at bay as he held himself against Pete’s chest. Pete made a humming sound in his throat and held the edges of the coat together across Patrick’s back.

“I did not realize that the trip might have been- unpleasant, for you.” Defiance said coldly, and Patrick could tell he knew. Fucking statues.

Joe asked where they were as Patrick clung to Pete, trying to leech some of the warmth from his body. Prowl said that they were at some church, Patrick couldn’t quite catch the name, where Andy’s scent had led them. Hypothetically, the gargoyles had taken him there to try and get information about the large nest in Chicago, and once none could be found, they would kill him.

“So, do we just stroll right on in and try to reason with them?” Pete asked. He rubbed his hands up and down Patrick’s back. Patrick could no longer control the shivering, but he actually felt warmer now than he had before.

“Prowl will try and remove the creature from your friend, and after than, you may escort him out while we deal with them.” Defiance said. Patrick wanted to argue about how poorly fleshed out the plan was, if only for the sake of arguing with Defiance, but he was certain that if he were to argue, his teeth would chatter and the point would be lost. Fortunately for him, Joe spoke his concerns.

“Doesn’t that seem a bit- simplistic?” Joe asked. Defiance gazed at him with an icy, apathetic gaze.

“It is simplistic for you, yes, but Prowl and I have a very good plan of attack of our own. Do not worry, for we can handle this issue. Take your friend and leave.”

“Not exactly my friend.” Joe mumbled. Patrick frowned into Pete’s shoulder, but didn’t look up, slowly starting to feel like the air was breathable again. He knew that Joe and Andy had had issues since things started to get supernatural, but that was concerning.

“Nevertheless.” Defiance said, and Pete nudged Patrick out of his coat before removing it and putting it over Patrick’s shoulders.

“You’ll freeze. I know.” Patrick said, but Pete shook his head sagely.

“I’m doing better than you at the moment. Besides, we’re heading inside.”

The lions were, in fact, leading their party up towards the doors of an old and crumbling church, creepier than any Patrick had attended as a kid. Joe didn’t look even slightly chilly wearing nothing but a t-shirt, which was obscenely unfair, Patrick thought, as he led them up to the heavy wooden door. Prowl nudged it open with her nose, and looked around inside before stepping forward to let the others follow in afterwards.

The church was every bit as cold inside as it was out, but the wind couldn’t touch them within its walls. Patrick shrunk deeper into Pete’s coat as they walked forward, Prowl always several yards ahead to provide them with safety. The pews were mostly broken, and a few needles littered the aisles leading up to the altar, ripped and soggy McDonald’s bags and used condoms among the debris they waded through to get up behind the altar. The church seemed to be utterly silent and abandoned, despite the rubble indicating its many uses through the years.

“Is there a b-back room?” Patrick asked, stuttering over the word as his teeth chattered. Prowl frowned, shaking her head, when a bell began tolling loudly. Joe, Pete, and Defiance began looking around wildly, confused and startled, but Patrick lifted his wrist and frowned.

“Or a bell tower? Because it’s twenty-six after the hour.” He said, his tone dark and full of dread. Defiance burst through the door just to the left of the altar, and within moments they could hear the sonorous thud of copper on wood as Defiance, from the sound of it, ran up a set of stairs. Prowl followed quickly after, and, after looking briefly at a stunned quiet Pete and Joe, Patrick followed as well.

If the church was disturbing, the stairs were even more so, dusty and creepy and creaking like mad. At the top of them, moonlight and icy wind flooded through the broken windows and nearly sent Patrick into droves of shivering again. He looked over to the noises of a scuffle and saw, not two, but dozens of gargoyles beating back the lions, and Andy in the center of it, held down by one of them right next to the huge church bell.

********

As soon as Patrick took to the stairs, Joe ran after him, because in the week that Patrick had known about any type of mythical creature, he had demonstrated nothing more prominently than his complete lack of luck, followed in a close second by his similarly complete lack of self preservation. He expected, when he reached the top of the stairs, to pull Andy out of one of the gargoyle’s grasps, and run away madly while the lions dealt with whatever it was. He had already learned that day that canine teeth were not meant to deal with stone. He did not expect, at all, to see Patrick frozen in shock and staring at a flock of gargoyles, perched in a circle around Andy like vultures, a couple easily beating back the lions.

“How many are there?” Joe breathed in disbelief.

“Twenty or so.” Patrick said back, his voice equally low. “This could be complicated.”

Pete ran up behind them, his mouth dropping in shock as well as he saw the huge group of creatures surrounding the bell.

“We’re fucked.” Pete muttered.

“Maybe.” Joe said, trying to sound hopeful.

“We’re fucked.” Patrick agreed. “Any ideas?” One of the lions roared, tossing chunks of cement gargoyle over the edge of the tower.

“Copper is stronger than cement.” Pete said, his voice hopeful. Yet Andy looked close to unconsciousness, trapped underneath the statue’s grip. Joe stood still for a moment, hoping that the lions could get something done faster, then in a moment of intense recklessness, he ran forward into the flock of statues.

It was, as he could have predicted, a terrible idea. The gargoyles all made unearthly growls, and fought to push him back. Still, he managed to break into their circle while they were still stunned, just managing to reach Andy and pull him out of the gargoyle’s grasp. It managed to clutch at Andy with one of its stone claws, trapping them both inside the circle.

“WHERE IS IT?” The gargoyle shrieked, the most god-awful sound that Joe had ever heard, grating like nails on a chalkboard. “WHERE ARE THEY? WE KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, YOU DAYLIGHTER, SUNWALKER, HALF-BREED!” The other gargoyles began crying too, their circle tightening around Joe and Andy until they could not see past the gargoyles. Andy was standing, at least, hopefully able to fight with him, even though he was rubbing his neck rather viciously.

“I don’t know!” Andy yelled back.

“Liar!” One of them hissed, its claw stretching out and slashing a cut across Andy’s arm.

“Trickster!”

“Demon!”

“ABOMINATION!”

“Shadow creatures were not meant to see the light of day!” The gargoyles screeched at them, pressing in so there was less than a foot of space between them and the creatures that surrounded them.

“What do you want?” Joe heard Pete yell, and he sounded very close, but still couldn’t be seen by him.

“Divulge the information and we may spare your life!” One of them snarled, and Joe, in a sudden burst of anger, lifted his foot and kicked it, hard in the face, knocking its nose off. He was confused, and somewhat concerned, and he looked up to Andy who seemed similarly lost. Andy shrugged at him, then did the same, knocking the entire head of a gargoyle to rubble.

“Cheaply made, just like I said earlier.” Joe laughed. Andy frowned at him.

“That makes no sense,” he said, pounding another gargoyle into dust as they began to fight their way out of the herd. “I couldn’t fight them off earlier, so what changed?” Joe shrugged at him, lifting one statue and throwing it across, destroying two others, but ramming right into one and leaving that third statue intact.

“Maybe they aren’t all built the same.” Joe said. The gargoyle flew forward, burying its claws in Joe’s sides, and holding him down. He swore profusely, rolling from side to side and trying to pull it off.The things they were fighting had sufficiently thinned out, but Joe wouldn’t be much help anymore.

“Do not harm my servants.” The gargoyle holding Joe down growled, and he had a sudden realization. The others must have been made very recently, out of old cement or something, so that it would seem like the number were bigger than what they were. Assuming that two real gargoyles were busying the lions, and one was holding Joe, they would have options.

“Get out of here!” Joe yelled up at Andy. He stood still at these words, the exact opposite of what was supposed to happen, and gave Joe a confused look. “Now!”

“That sounds like a terrible plan.” Andy said, his voice very dry, as he picked up a bit of the stone from one of the others and smashed it into Joe’s gargoyle’s head. Mostly, the piece Andy held was reduced to dust, but the strong gargoyle’s head cracked as well, and it rolled to the side, falling heavily onto the floor, and creating a boom that weakened Joe’s faith in the floor of their tower.

The gargoyle with its wings wrapped around the head of one of the lions let out a plaintive cry, and the lion, Defiance, Joe saw, crushed it under his paw in the lapse of attention that suddenly occured. Prowl and Defiance pinned the last remaining gargoyle to a wall, snarling menacingly as they did so. Andy kicked apart the last of the imposters, Pete occasionally knocking one his way.

“What purpose do you have in attacking a human?” Prowl asked in a clear, and frighteningly calm voice. Joe slid down to a sitting position, leaning his head back against the wall of the tower as he watched the statues’ interaction.

“He is not human!” It wailed, writhing under the lion’s grasp. “It is an abomination!”

“He is of human blood.” Prowl said. “He defends human kind. He has not killed a human. He is under our jurisdiction of protection, and we have the final say in this city, not a lowly church gargoyle.”

“You’re wrong.” The gargoyle spat. “You have no idea, the things we’ve seen his kind do! There will be death and you will be the one to blame!”

“Vigilantes have no place serving humanity. They only ever work for themselves.” Defiance said, and, lifting his paw, Joe flinched and averted his gaze. He heard the snap and the scream as Defiance brought his paw down on the gargoyle’s wing, and though he too had been attacking them, this idea of justice seemed more painful than the fighting he had been doing.

“Go home, masters.” Prowl ordered towards them lightly. “We are sorry for this evening, and hope that you do not face such interferences again.” A part of Joe wanted to argue, wanted to stay there and learn more about the lions, the statues, the city he was living in, but after the night he had had, he was overcome by exhaustion, and it appeared that everyone else was as well. Patrick nodded curtly, and stumbled down the stairs first, and Joe eagerly followed, walking quickly so as to be out from under the roof that they could still hear stone pounding on.

Outside, Andy looked around, very lost. Joe could see bruises all over his neck and jaw, but he looked as though he were mostly doing all right. Patrick was huddled into Pete’s coat, still shivering like mad, and Pete looked pretty cold as well. Joe wished the lions would have offered to take them home, because it would be a miracle finding a cab this late on a street this far from the loop.

“Do any of you know where we are?” Andy croaked after a minute or so of just standing there. Patrick shook his head morosely, and Joe felt his heart sink. It was nearly two in the morning by now, maybe after, but he wasn’t quite sure. Getting home wouldn’t be a fun experience.

“Wait a second.” Pete said, looking around him, scrutinizing the area. “I think we’re not too far from a friend of mine.” Joe cast him a dubious look.

“When you say ‘friend’?” Joe let the question hang in the air, and Pete rolled his eyes.

“We’re close to Chris’ place.” he clarified, and Joe looked around again, brightening up.

“Will he still be awake?” Patrick asked.

“I don’t fucking care.” Pete said. “We’re all gonna freeze to death otherwise, so let’s go wake the bastard up.”

The neighborhood didn’t look to Joe anything like what he remembered Chris’ neighborhood looking like, but he took Pete’s word for it, trailing at the back of the group in case any of the statues managed to escape. He thought it unlikely, but he was certainly in the best shape, if anything were to happen.

Pete must have had a nearly magical sense of direction, because after a few strange turns and weird side streets Joe had never heard of, they ended up, as he had promised, in front of Chris’ apartment building. Pete bounded up the steps and leaned into the buzzer, not releasing it for a second. Patrick hissed at him to let go, but didn’t make a movement to stop him. Joe couldn’t tell if he was too polite, or too cold, or perhaps a combination, but in under a minute, the door flung open.

“That’s odd.” Pete said. “He didn’t yell at me.”

“Then you go first.” Joe suggested, pushing him through the threshold. Pete fell through, walking up to the apartment, where Chris flung open the door with some bravado.

“Do you know what time it is?” He asked, his hair rumpled, but not appearing to have actually slept, Joe thought. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of the group. “Second question: Do you always bring your friends back from gigs covered in blood?”

“They’re not covered in blood.” Pete protested, walking past him. Joe followed the others in after, eager to get inside the warm glow of Chris’ living room. “I mean, Patrick, maybe, but that’s his fault, not mine.”

“This is not my fault!” Patrick cried, his voice rising in tone. Chris glared at the two, and walked out of the room, leaving them to shiver and drip slush all over the floor. He came back with hydrogen peroxide and a large Ace bandage, which he had draped over a first aid kit, and peeled the coat and shirt off of Patrick. He pushed him down into a dining chair and poured the peroxide over a large and rather nasty looking gash. Joe felt a twinge of guilt at not noticing it earlier.

“Fucking hell!” Patrick gasped, lifting his hand to wipe at the wound, but Chris smacked his hands away.

“You’re lucky it’s too deep for soap.” Chris said, taking a cotton ball out of the first aid box and dabbing at the cut. It had slashed nearly from shoulder to waist diagonally, and was dark, almost black on the inside, but not particularly wide. “In fact, it’s deep enough that you may need stitches. What did this idiot get you into?”

“A fight with the lions from the Art Institute.” Patrick said. Chris raised his eyebrows, and kept dabbing, grabbing another cotton ball and throwing the first away, now a dirty, dark pink color.

“Fascinating.” Chris said. “I was under the impression that they protected humans.”

“It was an off night.” Patrick said, his voice monotonous and surly. Pete promised, in a low voice, to tell Chris the whole story later. Chris nodded, and squeezed out most of the bottle of neosporin onto his fingers, smearing it into the cut.

“Jesus fuck!” Patrick cried out.

“Neosporin doesn’t fucking hurt, get over it.” Chris laughed, smiling at Patrick, who looked surlier by the second. He wrapped the thick bandage all around Patrick’s chest, and pinned the edge down delicately.

“You should go see a doctor tomorrow.” He advised. “You probably need stitches.”

“If I can afford them.” Patrick sighed.

“Well, your label certainly can.” Chris said with a grin. “Congrats to you guys, by the way.”

“We just got beat up by a hoard of gargoyles.” Andy said, seeming bemused.

“And you lived! Seems we have plenty to celebrate tonight, am I right?” Chris smirked, his good mood returning. “Any others need immediate medical attention though, or can I give you guys some blankets and go back the fuck to sleep?”

“Go to sleep.” Pete yawned. “I know where your blankets are.” He stretched as he walked over to the cupboard, and Chris gave them a mock salute as he wandered back into his bedroom.

Pete found five blankets, one of them which he spread out on the floor to lie on top of. While he was setting up, Joe laid himself out on the couch, unwilling to listen to anyone else that might ask for it. He had earned it.

“He’s got a point, though.” Patrick murmured, as Joe was falling asleep. “Do you usually come back from fights with monsters bleeding?”

“You know, I don’t usually get into fights with monsters.” Joe said, his voice low enough that it hopefully wouldn’t wake the others. “To be honest, I think that’s more of a Pete question, but who knows? Maybe it’s your fault.”

Patrick snorted. “Maybe so. But I’m the one that’s gonna end up in crutches.”

“Maybe then the demons will ask to sign your cast.” Joe suggested, the end of his sentence lost in a yawn. “Should you be passed out from like, excessive blood loss or something?”

“Thanks for caring.” Patrick said, and rolled over.

“Night princess.” Joe sang quietly. Patrick hit him over the head with a couch cushion, and promptly fell asleep, which seemed like the healthy thing to do, and satisfied Joe that everyone was probably alright.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the second chapter took so long. Having issues with betas, so if your interested in reading, send me a message.  
> Chapter title by Bowling for Soup


	3. Octopus Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A double date turns sour when mermaids are discovered to live in Lake Michigan. These mermaids in particular are fascinated with human culture- enough so to require test subjects to study that end up being a rather important pair.

Pete threw rocks out into Lake Michigan, eyes fixed on the horizon. It was amazing how different everything could look, despite the fact that it was all gray, just many different shades. The sky was pale gray, almost steely, the water a darker gray, and the rocks many varying shades, but all still the same color. He heard a light hum behind him, and turned to face Jeanae.

“You’re so pretentious.” She said, but smiled down at him, before sitting next to him on a rock. She was wearing layers and layers of clothing, but she still looked cold, and Pete wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him. Her hair fell across his chest in waves of inky black, a rippling sea of a darker color than everything around it, black lines standing out against the blur. She leaned into him, inhaling deeply and sighing even deeper, closing her eyes to the wind.

“You don’t mind.” Pete said, rubbing her back. She smiled without opening her eyes, but nodded into his chest.

“No, it’s part of your Morrisey charm, right?” Jeanae laughed, and sat up straight. “So, did you wanna do something, or just throw rocks in the lake all day?”

“Throwing rocks in the lake is doing something.” Pete argued, brushing a ribbon of hair out of her eyes. “I was philosophizing about the turn of the tides, and its poetic qualities.”

“This is a lake.” Jeanae giggled. “There is no tide.”

“Incorrect.” Pete said. “There is a small tide on the Great Lakes. That’s what makes them so great.” Jeanae laughed again, a musical, tinkling sound.

“Yeah, almost as great as me.” She teased, standing up and pulling at the strings of his hoodie, dragging him lightly up from the rock as well.

“You don’t have a tide.” Pete argued, standing up with her, following her as her hand dragged him across treacherously sharp rocks. She tossed a grin back at him.

“Sorry, should I also be about the size of Illinois?” She yanked him up onto the road and pulled his face down into a deep kiss. “I missed you.”

“Saw you yesterday. Actually, ten hours ago?” Pete said, looking down at his bare wrist. She playfully smacked him.

“You’re supposed to say that you missed me too.” She reprimanded him.

“I miss you the moment you’re gone.” He promised, leaning down to kiss her again, tilting her chin up with his index finger. Biting her lip, she tugged him down the road, sticking out her hand for a cab every time one passed, but never actually getting one to pull over. With a twinge of guilt, Pete lifted his hand at one and caught the cab drivers eye, causing him to pull over across three lanes of traffic. It wasn’t probably all that fair to use magic for a thing like that, but it was handy in a city like Chicago, to be sure.

Sliding in, Pete turned to Jeanae again, still smiling as he kissed her forehead. “What did you want to do?”

“Can we hang out at your place?” She asked, proving a shock to Pete. “My mother’s been- stifling, for like, months.” The since you got back remained obvious and unspoken. While Pete appreciated her honesty, it was understandable why a high schooler’s parents wouldn’t exactly approve of him as boyfriend material.

“I don’t think my place is a good idea either.” Pete said, the cab driver circling impatiently as he waited for an address. “Patrick sort of called the space for him and his girlfriend today. I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh, well if he called it.” Jeanae mocked. “Why don’t you make a little refrigerator chart of who gets what day to bang in the apartment? That sounds practical.” Pete scowled at her.

“It’s not like that.” He protested.

“Then surely they wouldn’t mind us hanging out, right?” She tossed her hair, scooting one seat over towards him. Pete gave the cab driver the address of his apartment building.

They walked in, and just as Pete imagined, Patrick and Anna were sitting hand in hand on the couch, talking in low voices and smiling at each other. They looked cute.

“Don’t mind us!” Jeanae called loudly, causing both of them to start and look up. “We’ll be in Pete’s room!”

“That’s also my room.” Patrick said, looking disgruntled. Pete grinned sheepishly at him, and walked towards the bedroom, almost inside before Anna stopped them.

“No, wait, you guys wanna hang out?” She asked. Pete turned to politely turn her down, but Jeanae spoke first.

“Yeah, sure thing! What did you have in mind?” Jeanae asked brightly. Pete sighed, almost imperceptibly, but Patrick noticed and smirked at him. The girls sat down to discuss options for the day, and Pete scooted over to sit down down next to Patrick.

“You shouldn’t have brought her over.” Patrick said. Pete nodded. He knew not to, but it was almost as though she had it planned. She liked hanging out with Anna, probably because they had a lot of the same relationship complaints. Pete doubted that Anna enjoyed hanging out with her as much, but he could have been wrong. He and Patrick eventually gave up on staring at the wall and started a game of rock paper scissors. Pete always won, as Patrick’s hand went into position a millisecond before three was called. Patrick got frustrated after Pete’s fifth win in a row, and he asked the girls if they wanted to see a movie. Jeanae said no, and Anna claimed there was nothing good out, so Patrick sighed, and turned to a different topic of conversation.

“Is Chris anything?” Patrick asked, his voice low enough to not be heard over the chatter.

“You could have asked him last time we were there.” Pete said.

“It seems like a kind of personal question to ask.” Patrick shrugged. “Is he a mythical creature as well?”

“Nah.” Pete said. “Well, I mean, maybe part dragon, but we can’t get confirmation.”

“I don’t know if you’re joking.” Patrick said.

“I’m not really.” Pete said. “He hoards knowledge and stories the way that dragons hoard gold. It’s actually kind of weird. He doesn’t call himself the informant for nothing, when he gets stories, he remembers all of them. Makes him a brilliant writer, but that could just be a personality trait.”

“So what, everyone with a slightly off personality trait is part legend on their dad’s side?” Patrick asked, sounding annoyed, but looking kind of frantic to Pete.

“Of course not,” Pete chuckled, “But it is more common than you think. Like, more kids are 1/16th leprechaun than 1/16th Cherokee, you know? It just sort of happens. Human beings fuck everything they can, so pure breed magic creatures are harder to come by than weird mixes.”

“Am I a little bit wolverine?” Patrick laughed. Pete shrugged.

“Probably not anything with claws. Maybe like, 1/32nd siren, I guess? Most singers are.”

“You’re joking.” Patrick said, no tone of questioning in his voice. Pete smirked at him.

“Nope. The only pure breed human singer that’s made it big in the last decade or so was Kurt Cobain.”

“Brilliant.” Patrick sighed. “We’re all X-Men.”

“Let’s go down to the beach!” Anna finally suggested, and Pete and Patrick looked up.

“It’s March and totally fucking freezing.” Patrick said, his eyes wide.

“Means that nobody’ll be there.” Anna pointed out. “And it’s really pretty today! I was hoping to use the polaroid that I got for Christmas, and the sky’s so stormy and gunmetal gray right now…”

“You’d better wear layers, because I’m certainly not lending you my jacket.” Patrick said, but he smiled.

“You wanna go?” Pete asked Jeanae. She threw him an exasperated glance, which he read as “Of course I wanna go!” and he shrugged. He decided against pointing out that they were just there, and they walked out.

On their way down to the shore line, Anna teased Patrick about the scar on his chest, and his clumsy nature, describing vividly for Jeanae the horror of this huge, bloody stripe down his chest. Pete almost stepped in to stop it, but Patrick laughed along with them, so he contented himself by staring out the window.

The beach was as pretty as expected, and once they got out into the lake effect cold winds, Jeanae seemed content to bury herself in Pete’s chest, the two of them sitting up against the rocks while Anna took pictures of the skyline. Patrick stood by her for a while, but eventually went up to sit next to them as well, clearly being shunted to the side for photography to take the most importance to Anna.

“So.” Patrick began, sounding almost as awkward as he looked, perched on the edge of a rock. “How’s it going?”

“Super.” Pete said. Jeanae hummed in agreement, and Patrick shrugged.

“It’s really fucking cold.” He said.

“Dude, that’s like your theme song. Maybe you should buy some warmer clothes.” Pete suggested. Patrick snorted.

“Yeah, me and what money?” He chuckled, but sounded a bit dark about it. Pete gave him a sympathetic look, but turned his attention quickly back to Jeanae, nuzzling against his sternum. He stroked her hair, murmuring into it, but not really saying anything. After a fashion, Patrick got up and started pacing along the shore. Anna called something to him, and he laughed striking some ridiculous pose holding one leg as high as he could lift it.

“If this was all you wanted to do,” Pete said, a little louder so she could understand the words over the wind, “Why did you want to hang out with Patrick and Anna?”

“Would you rather I ditch you?” She asked, and he shook his head mildly. “You’ve got a point. Let’s get closer to the shore then, there’s something weird looking in the water.” Pete sighed loudly as she grabbed his hand and dragged him up, pulling him across the beach, frozen sand crunching like gravel under his feet as she tugged him along.

“So what do you think you see in the water?” Pete asked, digging his heels in before they got too close. “Because all I’m seeing is water that should just give up and freeze already.”

“What, did you see something?” Anna asked. “Something like, large? Kinda grayish?”

“That thing you’re describing, yeah, that’s the lake.” Pete laughed.

“No, that is what I saw.” Jeanae said. “Hard to tell with the sky being all cloudy, but it was shiny, you know? Like a dolphin or something.”

“Dolphins don’t live in lakes.” Pete said.

“I said ‘like’.” Jeanae reminded him. “Wanna go check it out for me?” She asked, a glint in her eyes, and she pushed Pete towards the barely rippling waves. He cried out, a little in fear, but mostly playfully, and dragged his feet in the icy sand, pushing back, and then gasping in surprise as she actually did push him over, accidentally landing in a sitting position in the water.

“Jesus fuck!” He yelped, standing up and jumping away from the water. Jeanae laughed, loud and pealing, a pretty and almost musical sound. He didn’t mind that much, though it wasn’t comfortable.

“Look, it’s there again!” Anna pointed as she yelled. As she had said, only about five feet out from the water’s edge was a smooth gray shape, almost sparkling in what little sunlight filtered through the clouds. It just bobbed there, a lighter gray than the water around it, almost white in color, but there was some kind of pattern on it, Pete could tell.

“It’s not moving.” Jeanae said. “Maybe it’s a piece of a boat or something.”

“We could use a closer look.” Anna mused, stepping right next to where the waves sloshed up on the shore.

“Do you realize how cold the lake is right now?” Patrick asked, though he stood next to her.

“I do.” Pete muttered, and Jeanae pushed him a little. Patrick and Anna’s silhouettes looked beautiful from where he was standing, darks and primaries against the bright gray backdrop. A light breeze came from the water, blowing tufts of Anna’s deep red hair back towards him.

“Yeah,” Anna laughed, turning around. “Pete’s already been in, let’s just send him out.” Jeanae let loose her typical peals of laughter, stirring something in Pete’s chest that he could barely identify, when the sleek object moved again, even closer to the shore, not even a meter from where Patrick and Anna stood. Anna jumped back at the sudden movement. A movement so sudden that it troubled Pete. It felt too fast, too deliberate. It was as though it had been pushed.

Pete and Jeanae stepped closer, in a line with Patrick and Anna now. The smooth lump sat just above the water like a tiny silver hill, a bump too perfect to be broken or washed away. And, in looking closer, the design Pete had noticed earlier seemed more pronounced. Like many rows of lines identical to the cresting waves, just slightly uneven. It almost looked like chain mail armor to him, actually. The pattern was fascinating to look at, to try and follow when it just faded out so easily. He was dying for a closer look, his fingertips outstretched to touch it, when suddenly a bit of spray from the lake caught on his cheek. He reached up to rub the droplets away from his eye, not noticing that he wasn’t the only one stretching to feel the pattern.

“Get away from the shore!” Pete said sharply, feeling a panic beginning to creep into his lungs, but no sooner had he said it then Patrick’s hand made contact with the object.

It happened so fast, Pete barely knew what it was. Patrick stared at his hand in curiosity, pulled back, and was almost standing straight again when whatever it was whipped around 180 degrees, and stretched up out of the water.

Pete thought he would faint as a male human’s torso lifted itself from the water, its silvery hair dripping back into the lake. This wasn’t an ordinary sized man, however. It appeared to be more than twice the size of a normal human being, the chest alone extending six feet out of the water. The bump they had all been staring at, Pete realized, was this thing’s fin. The merman’s fin.

Anna jumped back in the nick of time as one of its huge arms outstretched towards the beach, grabbing Patrick around the waist in one hand.

“No, don’t!” Jeanae cried, bravely, stupidly, running into the surf, and the merman quickly scooped her up as well, tucking her into the crook of his elbow. Before Pete could gather his wits, it turned, plunging into the water headfirst, creating a great splash that drenched he and Anna as it swam away, faster than any boat he had ever seen, and soon travelling under. He and Anna stood and stared at the horizon, shivering and dripping for almost a solid minute.

“What the fuck was that?!” Anna screamed, looking like a drowned rat with her hair plastered down onto her forehead.

“How should I know? A fucking titan mermaid?” Pete screamed back at her, panic filling his lungs like thick tar.

“Why didn’t you do something?!” she yelled, fury coloring her gaze. Pete’s anger flared up just as quickly.

“Me? You were closer than I was, why didn’t you grab one of them?” He was livid, and already shaking from the cold water. If he couldn’t stand it, then oh god, how long could a person survive when submerged?

“You’re un-fucking-believable!” Anna screamed, running up the beach.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Pete yelled after her, trying to focus through the cold and the panic as he ran after her.

“I have to get to a phone, call the police, the marines, fuck, someone!” Anna cried, shaking so violently she could hardly stand. Pete felt some pity grow inside him, but it was small compared to his fear.

“And tell them what?” He asked, still screaming over the wind.

“Don’t pull that bullshit with me!” Anna yelled back at him. “We have to do something, they could still be alive-”

“Yes, they are, but I know people that can help.” Pete said. Anna glared at him. “Anyways, you have to come with me. You’ll sound even more ridiculous if you’re the only one claiming  a giant mermaid kidnapped your boyfriend and your- and Jeanae.” Pete added. Anna glared at him, her eyes full of fury.

“You’re saying you won’t back me up?” She hissed.

“Not while I have a better way.” Pete said, running in front of her and hailing down a taxi, his eyes flashing with the power he used to draw the cab across four full lanes of traffic, depositing its current passengers. Anna shot him an odd look, but the two jumped in the cab, ignoring the protests of its previous occupants.

“W-w-w-what’s your b-b-better way?” Anna asked, her teeth chattering loudly.

“I know a guy that deals with this stuff.” Pete replied shortly, trying not to shake as hard as much as Anna, trying to prove something to himself.

“You know a guy that d-deals with mermaids?” Anna yelled, and Pete shot a sharp glance to the driver, then back at her.

“Keep your voice down.” He ordered. Her eyes widened, and she threw herself back into the seat in total frustration.

“You must be fucking kidding.” She said, her eyebrows lowered over her eyes. “I’m so not hearing from the king of douchebags that I live in a fantasy young adult city, because this shit is not real, and you don’t know a guy that deals with MERMAIDS!” She yelled the last word, and the driver shot them an odd look through the plastic pane separating driver from occupant.

“If Patrick survives this, he should break up with you.” Pete muttered, not listening as Anna went off on a tangent, filled with expletives. He told the cab driver the address, then attempted to tune the annoying girl out of his mind.

*****

Joe noticed Andy walking over to Chris’ apartment with a certain amount of trepidation. He hadn’t really expect Pete to frantically call just him, but it still seemed pointless to bring along them both. And Joe couldn’t help but connect in his head that the relative mortal peril to regular life ratio had drastically changed for he and the rest of his band since Andy had joined. It could be a coincidence, sure.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Andy asked cordially as they approached the door together. The sight of his canines, just a little too sharp, still made every fiber of Joe’s being want to recoil, but he fought the urge, shaking his head tightly.

“Mermaids!” Chris cried gleefully, throwing the door open. “I told Pete, and he didn’t believe me! There are mermaids in Lake Michigan!”

“This is a defcon one situation?” Joe asked. “I mean, it’s interesting, but I’ve actually got a day job, unlike some people, and-”

“Patrick and Pete’s girlfriend are technically being held in captivity by said mermaids.” Chris said, laying emphasis on the word ‘technically’. Andy’s jaw dropped in an expression of horror, and though Joe wasn’t as outwardly terrified-

Dammit.

“I mean, they’re probably okay.” Chris said, dismissively. “Mermaids are peaceful. Well, oceanic mermaids are, I’ve never seen a freshwater-”

“Mermaids as in underwater?!” Andy yelled. “Underwater in March, in Chicago, outside? In Lake Michigan, famous for killing people just from the cold?”

Chris grimaced, and beckoned them inside. Murmuring things to calm them down. “Usually peaceful, probably trying very hard to keep them safe, sure it will be fine.”

“Are you done collecting your fucking Scooby Gang?!” Anna shrieked, drawing Joe’s attention to her. She and Pete were sitting on the couch, wet and wrapped up in a blanket. Anna looked- awful, if Joe was being perfectly honest with himself. She screamed like a banshee.

“Just about, yep.” Chris replied, very calmly, and just in time to stop Pete from yelling something he would most likely regret.

“Lake Michigan?” Andy asked, urgently, which seemed sort of redundant. I mean, it had obviously been a few minutes, and if they were going to die- Joe blanched at the realization, squeezing his eyes shut. There was no way that they could be dead. He wouldn’t think about it, if he could help it.

“Yeah, see, I was thinking,” Chris said. “Perhaps Andy should go looking. He seems the least likely to die a painful death.”

“Thanks.” Andy said. “I’m actually still mortal, if anyone cares. The water’s almost as hard for me to deal with.”

“Almost still makes you our best bet.” Chris said. “Unless one of you has a submarine.” He narrowed his eyes speculatively. “You don’t have a submarine, do you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, swim the largest body of freshwater on earth until I see something?” Andy asked. Joe glared at him.

“I’ll go do it, if you’re so afraid to.” He said, ready to make a break for where Patrick and Anna had last been seen. Pete stood up, his eyes wild.

“No you will not!” He yelled.

“You’re not my mother.” Joe snapped back.

“You can’t go in there.” Andy told him, and Joe inhaled deeply, ready to tear him apart, but Andy continued. “I’d be perfectly willing to go if you told me where to, but mermaids are presumably fast swimmers, and this is a very large lake that we’re talking about.”

“I’ve got a rumor.” Chris said. Exasperated, Joe sat back down on the ground, putting his head in his hands.

“Have more than a rumor?” Andy asked, impatiently.

“Jesus, if there’s even a chance he- they’re alive, fucking go for it!” Joe yelled, frustration bubbling up inside him. Andy shot him an acidic look, and Pete interrupted the argument before they could go at it.

“Joe, didn’t you have a friend with a boat?” Pete asked. Joe turned to him.

“I did. I don’t currently.” He said, short and curt. Pete sighed.

“We could steal a boat.” Chris suggested. Anna stared at them, her jaw hanging down past her neck. It was extremely unbecoming.

“Okay.” Pete agreed. “Let’s steal a boat!”

“And the police would be a bad idea because?” Anna snapped, yanking the blanket higher up on her lap.

“If you wanna go to the police, honey, feel free.” Joe said to her, his voice vindictive. She glared.

By the end of the hour, Andy had hotwired a very junky looking speedboat. Joe ignored his curiosity, not asking how Andy had learned to hotwire, or where he had learned to drive a boat, either, but he was curious. From what Joe remembered of Milwaukee, it wasn’t a very big fishing industry. Andy offered no explanation, and Joe wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking.

As they sped out on the lake, the skyline becoming fuzzy around the edges, Anna began interrogating them.

“You’re not human.” She said to Andy, who was steering the boat calmly as they sped along, spraying the five with cold water from time to time.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Andy said shortly.

“Does Patrick know?” She asked. Andy nodded, silently. Joe cursed Anna as she pressed on relentlessly.

“What are you, then?” She asked, looking like she didn’t really want to know the answer. Andy was quiet for a moment, and Joe wondered if he wouldn’t answer at all when he finally sighed.

“Half vampire. Half human. It’s why I can’t go search underwater indefinitely.”

“How can you be half vampire?” Anna demanded. “Did he only bite you with one fang?” Joe smirked as he leaned against the railing, enjoying watching the two argue. The spray of the lake on his back was uncomfortable, but seemingly unavoidable. The sun was out, and the day was warmer, but the water was still icy.

When Andy didn’t answer immediately, Anna turned impatiently to Joe. Her gaze was harsh and accusing, and Joe did feel, despite his best efforts, a twist of guilt in his stomach.

“And you’re, what, a fairy princess?” She asked. Joe snorted.

“You’d have to ask Pete about fairy princesses.” He said, grinning.

Chris stood up suddenly. He yelled for Andy to stop, and looked around. Joe stood up too, and looked behind them. The city was just a gray blur behind them, all though, Joe could see gray blur all around them, and he couldn’t be positive that that was, in fact, Chicago.

“Is this the place?” Pete asked. As the waves brushed the boat, rocking them powerfully back and forth, he could see that the boat they were in wasn’t actually very strong.

“No.” Chris said. “I can’t remember where the place is, but we can’t see the city anymore. We shouldn’t go farther.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?!” Anna demanded, her voice high and screechy in pitch. Joe stared at her, thinking of how she really hadn’t seemed this annoying in times he had met her before. The boat was swaying from side to side drastically, and Joe smiled a bit when Anna fell to her knees, gripping the wet floorboards to keep from falling. She made a sort of whimpering noise and the back of her throat, and he felt guilty, but didn’t reach to pick her up.

“I mean.” Chris paused, looking around. “This could be it. We were just out of sight of the city.”

“Thanks, that’s really helpful.” Andy said, shaking his head in annoyance. “Any more bright ideas? Would you like to start swimming, perhaps?” Chris looked affronted, and Joe rolled his eyes, diving over the side of the boat. He made no production of it, didn’t look back, only he hoped that he might have splashed them. Anyone, at this point. He was annoyed with every last one of them.

The water was as cold as ice, and he remembered an old horror story about a distant cousin who jumped into Lake Michigan from a sunny day on a boat without getting used to the water first, and never resurfacing. As his chest seemed to bend inwards with his limbs to fight off the curtains of cold blackness around him, he relaxed. Joe reminded himself that he was a stronger creature, better adapted to this than a human, and he swam forward, ignoring the sensation that felt inexplicable similar to having his body sheathed by the flat part of knives.  

Really, he thought as he swam deeper, barely able to see into the murk beneath him, they were all acting like idiots. Anna screaming like a little kid in a horror movie, Pete staring miserably into the distance, and Chris having a general idea that mermaids existed just far enough away from Chicago that the city could not be seen, which was infuriatingly unhelpful. He hated to admit, but Andy seemed the only other reasonable person there. And that was a gross thought. Joe propelled himself forward, the water getting darker around him. He hoped that Chris wasn’t completely full of shit, because swimming around Lake Michigan sounded like a really un fun way to spend his evening.

Peering down into the seemingly endless depths of the lake, Joe thought he saw movement beneath him. It was large. Nearly the size of a whale, from what he could tell of the shadow. Joe held a precarious stillness, peering down into the water and praying that if it sensed no movement, the shadow under him might move again and confirm his suspicions. Staring in absolute stillness, the shadow began swimming upwards. Joe focused all his concentration on not sucking in a breath of anticipation, when a heavily muscled arm wrapped around his waist and dragged him up, the pressure decreasing intensely as he was propelled against his will to the surface of the lake.

As they surfaced, Joe whirled around as he treaded water, fury plain on his face, and he wasn’t particularly surprised to see Andy.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He yelled, kicking lazily to keep his head above water. Andy, who looked surprisingly fragile and unprotected without his glasses on, blinked in confusion, cold water tracing his facial bones as it trickled down.

“You weren’t moving.” Andy said. “You could have been unconscious.” He said it slowly, as though it were obvious, and he stared blankly at Joe. Joe swore loudly.

“I wasn’t moving because I saw something!” Joe yelled, furious. He was even more furious, because he could now see that Andy’s response was more than justified, it was trying to save him. Joe couldn’t believe it. As the tread water, stirring up murky gray bubbles, Andy’s face contorted into one of anger.

“How was I supposed to know?!” He yelled back, dirty mist spraying into both of their faces as the wind churned up water around them. “You dived headfirst into one of the Great Lakes in the middle of winter, so excuse me for being concerned!”

“You’re excused then!” Joe had to scream over the roar of the wind and the rush of the waves. “I mean, Jesus, I can handle myself!”

“Next time I won’t try and save you then.” Andy cried. “And for all I care, you can just drown in-” He was suddenly cut off and pulled underwater, and contrary to the conversation they had been having, Joe immediately dove in after him, grateful to suddenly be engulfed by the waves again, without the wind to sting his face. He forced his eyes open, seeing Andy looking down at something pulling him down rather than up at him. It wouldn’t be possible to get his attention by making noise, not underwater, at any rate, so Joe propelled himself after them.

Really, the water was barely unpleasant anymore, Joe realized as he tried to swim after Andy and his captors. The only issue was that it was difficult to see on the surface, and it was only getting darker as he swam deeper. He wondered idly if he could see better in wolf form, which he probably could, but he couldn’t be certain he could swim as fast, or hold up to as much pressure. He also thought it might be more difficult to grab Andy without opposable thumbs, so he discarded the idea, and tried to follow the shapes he could blurrily see in front of him.

Just when he had begun to be swimming blind, hoping vaguely that he was going in the right direction, Joe bumped into something large and smooth, not unlike the skin of a lizard he had had growing up. He drew back in sudden fear, having not before thought about how potentially dangerous this could have been.

Joe recoiled for a moment, then remember the now three people being held in captivity, pushed forward again, laying his hands on the scaly structure and pushing forward, trying to feel his way up to something. He had only travelled about a foot up the structure when his arm was grabbed by- well, it must have been a hand. He knew logically that it must have been a hand. But the fingers had to have been six inches long, and thick as sausages. They grabbed his arm, and even though every instinct Joe had told him to thrash and move, he held still, hoping in vain that his eyes would adjust.

The creature that was holding Joe then let out a loud screeching/wailing sound, sounding somewhat reminiscent to the “soothing whale sound” cd’s that played on a loop at the new age store on Clark Street, but higher in pitch. Joe resisted the urge to cover his ears, instead tugging his arm pointedly, but without any real attempt to get out. The fingers around his arm tightened, and it made another wailing noise. Joe sighed, which was a terrible idea, as he was holding his breath, so he lost a few bubbles of air, cursing inwardly.

Losing oxygen, Joe tried one last ditch attempt to communicate. With his free left hand, he tapped his chest, then his mouth, pointed up towards the surface, then tapped his mouth again. The blurry shape moved as though it were nodding, and two of the shadows shot upwards towards the surface. Joe stared up after them, easier to see when they were above him in the light. They were huge, as Pete had managed to stutter out to them. Long and a pale gray, they were more sensible than something from The Little Mermaid, but very decidedly human, if you could ignore the tales and the fact that they were all at least twelve feet long.

Joe looked over at the creature holding him, stunned by how dark it was when he wasn’t looking at the sun. He contented himself to looking back up wistfully at the surface, thinking idly that he really needed air. He saw a black spot appear on the edge of his vision, looking like the “cigarette burn” in the top corner of movies for the reel to be switched, and grew actively concerned again when a heavy metal globe was shoved roughly over his head. Joe gasped in surprise, and his lungs filled with pressurized air. From the metal bars in front of his face, Joe surmised that it was an old diver’s helmet, and was shocked at how much air it seemed to hold for him, allowing him the pleasure of breathing in deeply, something he hadn’t realized until that moment was so wonderful. He looked back to the creature that was holding him, realizing that the mermaid holding him was now also holding a ball of glowing plant material, maybe seaweed. It was now easy to see her face, more than twice the size of a human’s, but clearly female. Her lips were a harsh, steely gray, and rather than the long flowing hair depicted by Disney, she had wavy flesh attached to the top of her head in spotted grays and blacks, looking much like the thin fins of goldfish. She stared at Joe headon, and pointed downwards, her face betraying no sign of emotion, and Joe winced. He pointed down, then put his hands on the helmet covering his head, and pushed them out violently, miming an explosion, which wasn’t entirely accurate, but he wasn’t sure how to mimic an implosion without certain danger.

The mermaid stared blankly at him for a moment, then she pointed upwards, and mimed the same outward explosion over her chest. Joe nodded, and the two stared at each other in silence for a few moments. A poke on his back caused him to turn around, seeing another figure in a huge diver’s helmet from long ago, almost certainly Andy, based on the clothes the figure was wearing, but it was impossible to see his face. Joe waved a little, and Andy waved back. He turned back to the mermaid, who was waving the bioluminescent sphere of seaweed rather insistently at him. She pointed down again, and Joe shook his head, again miming the explosion of his head. She shook her head and pointed down, where Joe suddenly noticed a dark shape rising up from the depths.

***************

When he woke up that morning, Andy thought it would have been a pretty average day. Or, if not normal, he still wouldn’t have put “kidnapped by mermaids” as something likely to happen to him. And yet, here he was, held tight in the long and thick fingers of a freshwater mermaid, which led him, as most supernatural events did, to questioning magical creatures. For it seemed counterintuitive that he, as a vampire, would be confused and shocked by magical creatures, but his mom had done all that she could to assure that Andy had grown up normally. Granted, she couldn’t walk him to the bus stop or pick him up from a friend’s house after sleepovers or take him to the park before drug dealers ran the places, but she made sure he could take care of himself, taught him the best ways to get a hold of blood, and always made sure he had enough to supply both his human and vampire diet. She kept him firmly in the human world, and aside from occasionally needing O negative, he had an average childhood.

Andy’s first real experience of the supernatural underworld had been an incident where a band he had been trying to get off the ground (not a particularly good band) had left their first and last performance and ran into a pack of werewolves, all sharp teeth and jaundice-gold eyes, raspy voices demanding that the band give up all their money or they would see something to haunt their nightmares. Andy’s fangs came out on something purer than human instinct, something plain and natural drawing them out, and when he barred them and snarled, a few of the wolves ran away, but their leader, a girl who had skin the color of her eyes, stepped forward and transformed into a gigantic wolf, roaring in fury. She probably was a drug addict as well as a werewolf, because she was skinny and hollow eyed and easy for Andy to punch to the side. He didn’t even have to convince his friends that they had imagined it. They just assumed that the kids in the venue had gotten them secondhand high, and they started to see things when they were afraid. Andy chose not to correct them, and instead decided on continuing his life in avoiding monsters whenever possible, until the situation with the wendigo.

So despite being one of the oldest vampires his age, Andy knew very little about all of this, and the mermaids were surprising, as a gross understatement. Seeing Joe’s helmet turned down, Andy looked downwards as well, and saw two more of the titanic mermaids carrying up two unconscious human forms. He lurched forward towards the figures coming towards him, but a normal, human sized hand grabbed his arm, holding him back. Andy looked over towards Joe, who shook his head very slightly. He wondered if Joe could see the figures coming up as Andy could, but he complied, staying still. As they approached, much closer now, Joe’s grip on his arm got much tighter, confirming Andy’s suspicion that he could see further underwater. It probably had to do with vampires being nocturnal: he would ask Chris later.

When the two other mermaids were at eye level, Andy could see that the people, presumably Patrick and Jeanae, were not wearing diver helmets, but some form of clear helmet, ones that fit around their necks rather than something they had to constantly hold down to keep air in. Andy was bizarrely jealous for a second that their helmets were better. He shook aside the ridiculous thought, trying to focus through the rusty metal bars on the people laid out. Both people appeared to be unconscious, with closed eyes and deep breathing. Something also appeared to be encasing their bodies, something thin and translucent, like a milky sheen surrounding and covering them.

Andy tried to smile warmly at the mermaids as they surrounded them, though he wasn’t sure whether or not they could see his face behind the murky glass. He leaned forward to reach out and touch one of them, but his hand was held back by the mermaid. It made a loud, wailing noise, and Andy nodded, his hand retreating. One of the mermaids took its long hand and pressed it to Patrick’s chest, just above where Andy knew the long wendigo scar was. The translucent material seemed to stretch up to the mermaid’s hand, encasing it as well, so her cold fingers could lie on the scar. Patrick shivered, and Andy winced. The mermaid traced over where the scar was, and then pulled his shirt up to reveal it. The opening of the material was bound only to her hand, and Andy could see where it encased a thin layer of air.

Andy cleared his throat to get their attention, but of course, no one heard, because yeah, underwater. Also, the helmet full of air will do that to a person. One of the mermaids let out another one of its loud wail noises, gesturing towards Andy and Joe, where they were no longer being held, but couldn’t easily escape the near dozen huge mermaids surrounding them. The mermaid that had been working over Patrick nodded, swam over to Andy, and lifted his shirt up, then began to wail excitedly at the others, pointing to his smooth chest then back at Patrick’s scarred one. Another mermaid swam forward with extreme speed, as though jerked across on a string. She pulled a jagged knife out, suddenly, and slashed across Andy’s chest. Andy pulled backward in shock, only to bump into the chest of another mermaid, or more likely merman, as he watched his blood billow out in a cloud across the circle that they had all formed. He thought of sharks for a moment in panic, then remembered that he was in a freshwater lake, and calmed down. A mermaid floated up to him, covering the cut with a thick, semi-solid, green paste. The blood stopped pouring out, but the mermaids now looked at him with an expression almost akin to hunger.

The same mermaid that had turned the knife on Andy now moved to Patrick’s motionless body. She hardly waited for the milky substance to cover her hand before she drug the knife across the old wound, letting blood seep out across Patrick’s chest. Joe began to swim forward, but was caught around the waist by one of their captors. Andy felt a panic growing sharp and spiky in his stomach, but he tried to ignore it, keeping a close eye on what the mermaid was doing. She caught a fair puddle of it in one of her large, cupped hands, then pulled it out of the shield, tossing it into the water next to the floating wisps of Andy’s blood. With Andy’s eyesight, there was no denying that his blood was darker in the water, but he couldn’t tell if his sight was superior to the mer-creatures or not. They seemed fairly excited as they wailed to each other, which gave Andy the sneaking suspicion that they could see the difference too.

The mermaid held out her knife very dramatically, giving Andy a chance to properly look at it. It was long and green and too big to be more than clumsy on a human. It was clear, as though it were made of sea glass, and looked very straight and sharp on the edges. The mermaid brought it down onto Jeanae’s stomach, digging deeper than the past two. Andy inhaled sharply as the knife cut through more than skin, flesh being exposed and the pinker color of tissue beneath the skin. The mermaid stuck in her other hand and pulled the two flaps of skin apart, peering down into Jeanae’s open flesh, then wailing back to the other mermaids. Too late, Andy realized what was going on. They were experiments, being vivisected to explain human anatomy, apparently. He thrashed, suddenly, trying to escape the hands of the merman that had been holding him since the cut was made. Trying to escape from bondage, he twisted and pulled at the hands, fighting to free himself in utter silence, for yelling would just use up some of his precious air supply. Joe seemed to get the message too, but they were both being held firm and fast by the mermaids, far stronger than any human.

Despite that, Andy was no human, and he kicked backwards with all the power he could use, and the merman released him, though it was mostly out of surprise at the pain. Andy swam forward, pulling the mermaid’s hands out of Jeanae’s skin, holding them together in front of her. Slowly, pointedly, Andy shook his head, and the mermaid’s gaze narrowed. The made a twirling motion with her hand, and Andy was grabbed by two mermaids instead of one, held still is he fought against their hold. He took pleasure in the fact that they were obviously struggling as he stirred up bubbles, kicking with all his might.

The leading mermaid made another motion, this one accompanied by a harsh screeching noise, and two of the currently unoccupied creatures swam directly downwards, gracefully quick in a way that Andy had never expected of a humanoid being. He continued to thrash, occasionally jerking one of their arms forward, clearly putting up a reasonable fight. The mermaid with the knife, quite possibly the leader, took a longer, thinner piece of sea glass, and began poking at something inside of Jeanae. Andy fought for purchase, hoping to pull the tools away from her, somehow explain that this was hurting them, for they paid attention when Joe tried to explain the pressure, didn’t they?

When the two mermaids rose up again, they were again carrying two humans, a boy and a girl, disproportionately small in their long arms. These people, teenagers, they were encased in the same pale white substance as Patrick and Jeanae, but their skin was beginning to mottle, turning purple in places and swelling in others, making it stunningly clear to Andy that these two were dead. He blanched, turning to look at Joe to confirm his suspicion, only to remember that he couldn’t see his face behind the thick helmet.

The head mermaid withdrew the long probe, pulling her hand away from Jeanae, then pointed at Andy. He gestured at himself in confusion, and she nodded. She pointed down at the dead boy, who looked about fifteen years old to Andy. With a low moaning sound from her, a merman lifted the boy’s shirt, displaying his chest. She then pointed to Patrick’s, and looked back at Andy with a face full of confusion. Andy stared back at her blankly, and she sighed, bubbles flying out of her nose and mouth. She pointed between their two chests, and then waved her a small piece of fabric over Patrick’s mouth, which floated upwards a bit, and she turned to give Andy the same confused look. He realized, with a jolt, that she was asking how it could be that Patrick was alive and not the other boy when he was the injured one. Desperate and pleading, Andy placed his hand on the glass as close to his mouth as possible, then pointed back up to the surface, glaring directly at her. She shook her head, tapping the glass casing around the unidentified boy’s head, just like Patrick’s. Andy had no idea how to explain this to her, so he just kept pointing at the surface.

Finally, she threw her hands up, returning to work over Jeanae. Andy kicked viciously, trying desperately to escape, but he could not pass the grips of these creatures more than twice his size, no matter how strong he was. He could only watch, helplessly, as the mermaid sliced off a strip of Jeanae’s skin, handing it to another mermaid who placed the skin carefully in a clamshell. And really, Andy thought with annoyance, why was there a clamshell in Lake Michigan at all? She turned and did the same to Patrick, placing his skin in a lighter, pastel pink colored shell, then turned back to Jeanae, cutting deeper and removing a thin slice of something red and stringy to the mermaid. Muscle tissue. Andy gagged as some blood escaped with the mermaid’s hand, filling the water around them with almost opaque wisps of red. As he felt revulsion, he also became acutely aware that the air in his helmet was getting thinner and harder to breathe. He could hold his breath for a while, but he wondered what they had working for Patrick and Jeanae, and if the material holding them allowed oxygen to pass through. It didn’t seem as though the mermaids had incredible access to technology, but they obviously weren’t dead yet.

As the mermaid began to hack at Patrick’s muscles, Andy turned his head away, feeling unbelievably useless. All he could hope for was that Chris or Pete would notice that they had been down for far too long and call for some sort of help. Surely they knew other mythical creatures in Chicago that could withstand these conditions?

The mermaid had just finished with the muscle and snipped off a bit of Jeanae’s hair when Joe suddenly began falling, slipping out of the mermaid’s grasp with his head tilted at an angle, water rushing in. There wasn’t, Andy realized in a state of panic, enough air for Joe to stay conscious for nearly as long as him. The mermaids seemed to realize this too, and one of them swam Joe to the surface rather hurriedly while Andy watched from below. The commotion over, most turned their attention back to Jeanae and the crude vivisection taking place in a setting that was deadly to the subjects, but Andy kept looking up at the sunlight, where the larger of the two shadows appeared to be getting pushed back by a shape that wasn’t quite human. Andy smiled, a very small smile, and began to let his muscles grow slack as well.

Merely no longer needing to restrain him confused the first merman enough to look down, and as Andy let himself fall, he could see both his captors staring at him in horror just before the water rushed into his pocket of thin, stale air. As soon as he felt the stinging cold winds of Chicago hit his neck, Andy swung around, knocking one of the huge mermen down with the metal helmet that was nearly as large as one of their heads. He bared his fangs, and sank his teeth into the shoulder of the second guard, feeling a thick, gel like blood seep into his mouth. He heard a loud and infrequent barking behind him, and it appeared as though the large wolf next to him was laughing. Andy grinned, fully displaying both large and sharp canines.

“Rescue mission?” He asked, and the wolf dove down into the water, with Andy propelling himself right behind it. When they returned to the circle, no longer with the aid of air to breath, it was clearly not a fun experience for the wolf, already slowed by the water, but Andy was a predator, and this was what he was made for.

Slashing the mermaids aside with his hands, he dug his nails into the head mermaid, who was in the process of trying to cut off another sample. Though his nails were slightly softened by the water, they still managed to tear the flesh, causing the mermaid to wail in agony. Joe swam upwards now, leading a few of the mermaids to chase after him, where Andy knew he could easily defeat them above the surface. The mermaid under Andy’s nails thrashed and screamed, too big for Andy to hold down, but he braced himself on her, then pushed himself upwards, off her back, and kicked at her head with all his might, dazing her slightly, at least.

Other mermaids seemed to be off getting help of some sort, so Andy took advantage of the lull and grabbed Patrick and Jeanae, one of them in either arm, and began kicking his way up to the surface, being careful to kick very violently just in case a mermaid was swimming up behind them. As soon as he came up above the waves with the two in hand, the semi-transparent gel around them that had encased Andy’s arms began to dissolve rapidly, melting into the water around them and leaving thick, heavy puddles floating on the water around them, unfortunately also waking the captives up.

Jeanae let out a shriek as her eyes flew open, staring around herself rapidly, thick hair plastered to her face as she looked around in abject terror and hyperventilating, inhaling some of the icy lake water. Patrick didn’t fare much better, flailing his arms and pushing his hair back infrequently as he gasped like he was trying to catch his breath. Andy still had an arm around each of their waists, so he pulled them forward as he swam, in a hurry to escape the mermaids that were most likely chasing after them. He also realized, with the scent of blood in the water following him, that the two of them were still bleeding, and would need medical attention immediately. He didn’t imagine the boat would go that much faster on the return trip. He swam forward quickly, and if either of the people he was carrying spoke, Andy did not hear it.

After he had gone a good few dozen meters, the boat much closer in sight, Andy heard a frantic barking from behind him. He turned, only his head, in time to see Joe’s teeth cutting across one of the huge foreheads of the mermaids. Andy gulped, noticing that the mermaids seemed far larger when they were above the water and chasing you. Joe, his fur hanging all over him like a wet sheet, barked louder, then howled once, loud and piercing, and yet again, Andy could see himself being outsmarted in the face of a crisis. The boat’s motor turned on, and it began to drive towards them, still too slow for Andy’s taste. He turned back to Joe, trying to keep the two people who he was holding afloat keep their heads above the water.

“Do you need a hand?” He yelled. The wolf turned sharply to Andy and growled predatorily, and Andy nodded in understanding, kicking forwards towards the boat. Another minute passed before they were even with each other, and Pete and Anna had draped themselves precariously over the edge while Chris manned the wheel. Andy paused before he handed one of them up, because he realized he wasn’t sure how to do so without dropping the other one.

“Can you swim?” He yelled frantically at Patrick over the wind. Patrick nodded at him, his face annoyed but his eyes wide with fright, and Andy let him go, bracing his feet on the slippery sides of the boat as he lifted Jeanae up into Pete’s arms. He heaved her over the side and instantly sat her down, staring at her intently, rubbing her arms and murmuring under his breath as she shook. Andy turned to lift Patrick up, Patrick who seemed to be treading water with forced ease, still shaking more than was entirely healthy. He had both hands wrapped tightly around him, and had lifted him halfway into Anna’s outstretched hands, when a large hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled him back into the depths, unintentionally dragging Patrick along with them.

*************

Patrick hadn’t been overly fond of swimming to begin with. It was unpleasant and cold as a child, and through puberty became a source of true horror: displaying pubescent bodies in the never ending alpha contest of public education. But there was a difference between distaste for the public swimming pool, and the deep and heavy dread in the pit of your stomach when you are dragged down, yet again, into a lake icy enough to kill you in the summer, to say nothing of March. And though Patrick didn’t remember being held by the mermaids for long, the sun was close to setting outside, which meant it had been a long time. It had been hours. And though he wasn’t a fan of the damsel in distress routine, it was nice to not have to try and swim away from certain death while dying of the freezing cold. After a very cold and very confusing day, the last thing Patrick wanted was to ever enter Lake Michigan again. And just when it seemed he was out, that was exactly what happened. Andy’s supporting arms dragged him in, almost certainly by accident, and he was under the water again. He couldn’t properly see either, which was irritating, but he never learned how to open his eyes underwater, so all he could do was follow his instinct- to dive further down in an attempt to grab Andy and pull him back up.

Patrick’s outstretched hand managed to grab something scaly and smooth, just like fish scales, and he recoiled his hand instantly, kicking out his foot forward hurriedly and meeting something hard. Nothing really sounded like anything under the water, just bubbles and the distant roar of the boat’s motor. He kicked out again and again, hoping he was hitting the mermaid rather than something else, and rushed up to the surface to drink in some air.

As his head bobbed over the top, he breathed in deeply, and as good as the air felt, he was still concerned at the growing pain in his muscles, a tightness that felt like all of the muscles he had heard football player call by name were suddenly half their length, barely reaching taut to snap over the bones. The cold wind stung harder than knives- or well, harder than claws, Patrick could certainly testify to. He could just remember some facts about hypothermia that he had picked up in his high school anatomy class- it caused sleepiness, confusion, a tendency to hyperventilate, and an intense loss of coordination when the head leaves your extremities to protect the core of your body. Of course, it’s much easier to remember symptoms when you’re experiencing them.

Patrick heard a loud growling sound behind him, and whipped around quickly to see a large and soaking wet wolf, snarling at the largest head Patrick had ever seen. It had been hard to get a good look at the mermaids before, but it was easy now that one was right in front of him. Her face- it was clearly female- was a pale, bluish gray, the same shade as cement at dawn. Black eyes stared out, and rather than hair, flaps of very thin fins hung to the side of her head,. She snarled back at Joe, her teeth just like a sharks, sharp and white. The wolf pounced on the mermaid, thrashing around in the water. Patrick got hit by some of the blast, turning his head to the side. He looked back, and the boat was further away than he remembered it, but still only a few meters off. Patrick swam up to it, fighting the waves that seemed to grow stronger all the time.

“You have a harpoon up there?” Patrick screamed over the wind and waves and the sound of a werewolf fighting a sea monster. His voice wasn’t quite loud enough to be heard, but Anna stuck her hand as far over the boat as she could. He probably could have reached it if he tried very, very hard, but instead he sighed, and made a stabbing motion with his hand, jerking it back and forth very quickly. Anna yelled something back that he couldn’t hear, and he gave her another pleading look. She stared down at him for a moment, with deep resignation in her eyes, then ran off to the other side of the boat, and came back with a long fishing pole. Patrick reached up, grabbing the handle, and again, their eyes met when each of them was grabbing onto one side of the pole. He thought for a second that she would try to pull him up, but instead she dropped it, and yelled “Good luck!” just loud enough for him to hear. He smiled up at her, and swam over to Joe and the mermaid.

Patrick had always found it ridiculous how hard it seemed for actors in movies to just keep their heads above the water, but he understood why now. With waves pulling and pushing him from every side, and nothing steady to hold onto, much less stand on, he seemed to be inhaling Lake Michigan more than he was swimming in it. He managed to reach the whirlpool of magical creatures, Joe and the mermaid battling it out with no winner in sight, and Patrick took very careful aim, and in a lull, jabbed the mermaid in her nose with the thicker end of the fishing pole, like he was told was protocol with sharks. The mermaid drew back, looking confused, and a very dark blood began to spill out of its nose, more black than red. It stared at Patrick, bemused, which gave Joe enough time to get the upper hand, pouncing onto her and tearing at the fins on top of her head. He barked at Patrick, angry and menacing, and Patrick brought the heavier end of the fishing pole down on her head, dazing her again. She fell backwards, down into the lake, and Patrick felt horribly guilty, for a moment, but tried to shake it off and convince himself she would be alright, after they got away.

“Where’s Andy?” Patrick yelled at Joe, only to get a very irritated howl in response. Patrick’s lids felt heavy, and his arms moved jerkily when he tried to swim further in the direction he had seen Andy get taken. Joe barked at him, snarling, and Patrick dove under the water, forcing his eyes open and feeling the icy water on them. It looked murky enough that he could have left them shut and had just as much luck. He swam forward, fighting every urge in his body that kept telling him to keep breathing, keep taking deep breaths.

When a hand grabbed Patrick’s ankle and pulled him to the surface, he thought for a moment that it might have been a mermaid, but it was only Joe, human again, and livid.

“You are bleeding!” Joe yelled, wind whipping at their faces.

“What’s new?” Patrick screamed back.

“They can smell it, idiot!” Joe yelled, and Patrick’s eyes widened.

“Oops?” He said, and Joe groaned, grabbing his arm and pulling him away. “But we can’t just leave him out here!” Patrick said, not fighting against Joe, but not trying to swim on his own. He didn’t know how well it would work anymore anyways, hands already felt pretty useless, and his arms were weakening alarmingly fast.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Joe sighed, raising his eyes to the heavens in a look of deep annoyance. “He’s coming.”

A mermaid was thrown out of the water, hitting the side of the boat and rocking it, nearly knocking someone off the edge, but the sound of Anna’s cry. Patrick felt a jolt of fear, but there was no splash other than the mermaid’s, he was certain of that. Joe dragged Patrick over to the side of the boat, and nothing seemed to grab them and attempt to murder them in the time it took to get there, which was pretty good news, and new for that day.

At the edge of the boat, Joe heaved Patrick up to reach up and grab someone’s hands, but Patrick found that his arms could not stretch out as far as they had earlier. They could raise a bit above his shoulders, and he could bend his elbows if he concentrated, but it wasn’t quite high enough. Joe pushed him up higher, and Patrick tried, really tried, to make his muscles cooperate and just stretch out for a minute more, but they wouldn’t budge. Both of his arms felt useless, like branches stuck on to the sides of his body. He looked up at Anna, who was reaching out to him, and stared into her eyes. She still had that same look of resignation, but she reached further forward, almost able to grab his useless hands, and Patrick wanted to tell her that it wouldn’t do much, because he still couldn’t grab hold of her. His voice wasn’t quite coming out properly, and his teeth were chattering so rapidly and powerfully that he would probably bit his own tongue off if he tried to force the words out.

There was, with no forewarning, a dramatic boost from below, pushing Patrick up and into Anna’s arms, where she stared at him, shocked, as they clung to each other. She murmured something, it all sounded a bit fuzzy in Patrick’s head, but she clung to him, fiery hot, almost burning his skin but feeling far too good to let go. He held her close, trying to leech some of the warmth that came from her as he buried his face in her neck. Two wet thumps came from behind him, and Andy was talking again, but everything still sounded a bit muffled. Patrick felt like he should be more concerned about this, but all he wanted to do was envelop himself in Anna, wrapped up in her, how warm she was, for all eternity.

They had to sit down when the boat started, and someone pressed a bit of their shirt into his chest because, yet again, the scar across Patrick’s torso had been reopened. It may never close, he thought, at this rate. He couldn’t quite hear what people were saying to him, their words moving too slow and blurred together, all he could hear clearly was his teeth chattering, but from the wild hand motions and occasional gasps from Anna, he assumed that Joe and Andy were recounting the story of whatever had just happened. He felt sorry that he was missing the tale, as he didn’t know a lot of it.

He still felt bleary and static-y around the edges as he was walked into the hospital. He knew they were telling him the story he should repeat, but the words slid around his brain and made no sense, so he stuttered out the words “Lake Michigan”, and let them fill in the blanks. The receptionist didn’t seem to find whatever they said odd, though he did stare at the red seeping through both the cloth and Patrick’s fingers where he held the makeshift bandage up. He was in a bleached white bed, away from everyone else, when he realized that he forgot to mention that he couldn’t afford the hospital stay. The thought drifted away quickly as he fell asleep.

When Patrick woke up, he was shocked to find his mother there, hair frazzled, and absolutely livid.

“When do you need a boat? You don’t even live in this city!” She accused angrily. Patrick blinked a few times, each one taking a minute or two, but eventually cleared his gaze, focusing forward on a sheepish looking Andy.

“I um.” Andy paused, shrugging. “I like boating. And I knew we would be here for a while. So I bought a boat.”

“You wouldn’t even buy a car.” Patrick muttered, laughing a little bit, and speaking very groggily. His mom stared at him, wide eyed.

“Patrick Martin,” she enunciated, and he winced, looking guiltily at her. “What in God’s name were you doing on a boat, during a storm, in winter?” Her voice was stern, but he could hear the fear underneath it that was harder to detect when he was younger.

“Um.” He looked up at Andy, who was standing there with Anna, the two of them looking concerned. Everything was coming back to him in small, fuzzy snapshots, and all he could remember vividly was the harsh, scowling face of the gigantic mermaid. “Anna wanted to take pictures… of the storm?” He blinked, fighting to reopen his heavy eyelids each time.

“I did.” Anna agreed earnestly. “I had this brand new polaroid and I was trying to experiment with the lighting, but- it uh, fell over the side.” She finished, probably not even faking the look of disappointment. Patrick’s mom looked back at her son.

“And did you decide to go in after it?” She asked, her voice bitingly sarcastic. Patrick felt much younger there than he had in months.

“I fell.” He protested. “The waves were really strong, and I was leaning over the side-” He paused, remembering the cut. “I think the handrail cut up my chest. Anna shot him a worried look, with wide eyes, and he tried to smile reassuringly at her. “It’s sort of difficult to remember.” He finished, lamely. It wasn’t a lie, that was certain.

“Patrick,” his mother took a step closer to him, with the same wide eyed look Anna had, the anger almost gone from her, “Your internal body temperature was at 80 degrees by the time they got you here.” Her voice was now pleading. “What on earth were you thinking?”

“Something stupid, probably.” he shrugged and laughed, a tad uneasily.

“Your doctor also said that you lost a concerning amount of blood.” She continued. “I mean really, I understand that you’re being independent, that you actually have a shot at this music career, but you have to be careful!” Her eyes were pleading too. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Patrick felt sick to his stomach at the look on his mother’s face. She was pale and concerned, with lines of stress creasing under her eyes, and he was plagued by intense feelings of guilt.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “It was just an accident. No big deal.”

“It was a big deal.” His mother said, wide eyed. “It’s far easier for me to pretend you’re being safe when you aren’t sent into a hospital with moderate to severe hypothermia. You could have died.” Patrick didn’t think shrugging would be an appropriate response for that particular moment, so he looked down. His mother turned to Andy.

“Look, I know I may seem ridiculous,” She began, and Patrick opened his mouth to protest, but promptly closed it, because if it would make his mom feel better, then what could it hurt? “But you seem- responsible.” She said after a pause. Patrick hid a smirk, because what she meant was responsible by comparison to someone younger than him and, well, Pete. “Please, take care of him. And I know,” She turned back to Patrick, rolling her eyes, “You’re in a band, you’re nearly nineteen, far be it from me to try and run your life. But do try and keep yourself in one piece?” She said, locking eyes with Patrick. He felt the words washing inside him, the truth almost spilling out, but he smiled at her.

“I will.” He said. “I could come home for a weekend, if you wanted?” He left the end open and questioning.

“I actually think you may be stuck here for a while.” His mom shook her head, but laughed a little. “Your lips are still blue.” Patrick’s hand fluttered up to cover his mouth, and though it had been lying beneath an electric blanket, it was stunningly cold on his face.

“Maybe next weekend.” She said, and turned to walk out. “Also, Pete told me that you mentioned money?” Patrick probably would have blushed, embarrassed, but he didn’t feel a rush of heat to his cheeks. “You do realize that parental insurance covers you through the age of 26.” And with that, she breezed out of the door, with the promise that she would be back soon.

“Well.” Patrick sighed, looking up at Andy and Anna. “That’s good, right? So, any chance of one of you getting me Reza’s, because hospital food is just-”

“What were you thinking?” Andy asked, throwing his hands up. Patrick shrugged, and Anna took up the rant. “You jumped into the water!”

“Technically, I was pulled in.” Patrick said, jerking his thumb over towards Andy. “Anyways, I’m alright.”

Anna ran over to him, her face alight with fury, but pulling him into a tight hug, breathing onto his neck.

“Never do this again.” She whispered, just under his ear, and he melted at her voice, warmth surging through his veins.

“I had no intentions.” Patrick agreed, his voice soft. Andy cleared his throat, and they looked up.

“Reza’s?” Andy asked, his eyebrows quirked up in confusion.

“Yeah, it’s this great Persian place, really expensive but so totally worth it.” Patrick said, his face lighting up. “The dill rice is unbelievable.” Andy shook his head.

“You’re probably going to complain about this like it’s all our fault.” He sighed, raising his eyes upwards.

“You’ll know in your heart that I’m right.” Patrick agreed. Andy stepped out of the room, and Patrick yelled “It’s on Ontario!” after him. He looked back up at Anna.

“Is Jeanae all right?” He asked, and Anna swept her hair aside, looking annoyed.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, what with the flunked Poli-Sci electric blanket lying next to her to keep her warm.” She muttered. Patrick laughed, shaking his hospital bed.

“What a great excuse for them to be inseparable, until her mom shows up!” He choked out, and Anna laughed a little too. She sat on the bed next to him, slightly obscured by red IVs and cords dangling around them.

“When I said to never do this again.” She began, and Patrick took in a deep breath. She looked at him, and he groaned.

“I know. I mean, I’m honestly not doing all this on purpose.” He said. “I just have really bad luck.”

“They aren’t helping.” Anna said. “I heard the stories- while you were out. I want you to be safe.”

“I will be.” Patrick said, seeing her dubious look, he continued. “I promise.”

And she held him close until the doctor came in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been so infrequent, but I've got a schedule now! Title by The Beatles. Any similarities between depicted characters and real people are totally on purpose. Sorry.


	4. There is a Light That Never Goes out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to investigate a supposed vampire lead, the boys find a girl with a mystery, leading them straight into the heart of an ancient Polish legend right in the greater Chicago area.

When Patrick stumbled into the apartment in late June, he collapsed face first before saying anything. Pete looked up from his book, eyebrows raised, and must have been looking vaguely concerned for a few minutes before Patrick looked up and groaned dramatically. Pete rolled his eyes, turning back to his book.

“Don’t get sweat on the couch.” He warned, flipping the page louder than necessary as Patrick rolled off, onto the ground.

“It is at least,” Patrick paused for emphasis, breathing heavily and feeling the cold air touch his throat as he drank in the heavily fanned air like water, “At least 2,000 degrees outside. Celsius.”

“I’ve just come to the conclusion that you were born with a severe lack of homeostasis.” Pete said, and Patrick glared at him. He had been walking downtown, trying to find a nearby grocery store that sold either tofu or black beans for their kitchen, now that Andy was staying with them most of the time. He went back up to Wisconsin on occasion, but they played shows in the area so often that he needed to stay, most times. Finding food was now more difficult, but the shows they played gave them the money to afford it, at least. Patrick had stopped keeping track of who owed whom money. It wasn’t worth trying to stay on top of.

“You get the groceries next time.” Patrick snapped, twisting onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, stained with water damage. “You’re not going to run into anyone.” He regretted the words as soon as they came out, quickly looking back at Pete, who seemed annoyed, but not heartbroken and sappy-sad anymore.

“I’m not avoiding anyone.” Pete replied, his tone icier than the air conditioning in the expensive hotels downtown. “At any rate, if anyone were avoiding anyone else, it would be HER, because she happens to be the one cheating. But no one is.” He continued, standing and crossing the room in strides. “Because we’re dealing with things from a distance.”

“Right,” Patrick agreed mildly, careful not to put any intonation behind the words. He didn’t want to set Pete off, and he learned long ago that there was no point in trying to voice his opinion on the matter. His friend was set in his ways, and Patrick would just leave him to it.

Patrick heard the refrigerator door open, and Pete made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat.

“Did you only buy soda?” He asked, sounding derisive.

“I’m 19!” Patrick said, rolling his eyes.

“There’s so much root beer in here.” Pete sounded almost mournful now, and Patrick snorted, standing up as well. His clothes were still stuck to his skin with a plaster of sweat and humidity rising from the pavement itself, but his forearms felt almost cool, so he figured it would be safe to walk off to his bedroom. The mess inside was atrocious, and he felt a deep sense of hopelessness at the thought of trying to clean it up without any air conditioning to speak of. Already the apartment began to feel warm and sticky without the stark contrast of having just walked inside to make it seem cold.

“Are we playing a show tonight?” Patrick asked. Pete responded in a muffled sort of negative through a mouthful of something, but as he did, the dingy white phone on the kitchen wall began to ring. Patrick bounded out of his room and snatched it away before Pete could swallow.

“Hello?” He began eagerly. If it were Anna, he could probably get out for the night, maybe even afford to take her to dinner.

“Trick-ster!” Chris’ voice boomed out of the receiver. Patrick held back a sigh of annoyance. “I need your help with something.” Chris continued, and Patrick’s eyebrows shot up.

“With what?” He asked warily, leaning against the wall so that the yellowish, tangled cord curled around his stomach.

“Well, actually, you and the band’s help.” Chris admitted. Patrick heaved a sigh, and glared at the wall across from him.

“I’m gonna stop you right now and say that your apartment is too small for a house party.” Patrick told him, letting annoyance and boredom drip off his words and straight through the line.

“No, asshole, not for your questionable music talent, for your weird monster fighting skills!” Chris said. Patrick pulled the phone away in surprise.

“‘Monster fighting skills’?” Patrick repeated in disbelief, then paused. “Wait, questionable? What are you talking about?”

“Look, I’ve become a way better informant since you guys have come out about your weird 80’s movie powers.” Chris began, and continued before Patrick could dispute him. “And I mean, you took out a colony of mermaids-”

“Self defense!” Patrick protested.

“And you helped destroy the rogue gargoyles-”

“They were going to kill Andy!”

“The wendigo thing-”

“That was one time!”

“And okay, those werewolves last month?” Chris finished. Patrick shuddered.

“You didn’t see what they were going to do to her.” He said darkly.

“But that’s not self defense, you were helping someone else!” Chris said. Patrick leaned his back up against the wall, shaking his head and jostling the cords. “And this is totally relevant to you guys.” Chris continued.

“What exactly do you want?” Patrick asked. He could visualize Chris chewing on a pen cap as he thought, pacing around his apartment. Patrick had seen it enough times.

“What was it, back in February, that the gargoyles kept calling Andy?” Chris asked.

“An abomination.” Patrick replied instantly. “Why?”

“Okay, but did they use any other names?” Chris asked, sounding impatient.

“Yeah, sure.” Patrick said. “Um, ‘half-breed’, something about daylight, ‘sunwalker’, and they really did use abomination a lot.” Pete caught Patrick’s eye over a pan of lasagna he was getting ready to reheat in the oven, and mouthed ‘What’s up?’ at him. Patrick shrugged, and whispered “Chris” back at him.

“Yeah, okay, Sunwalker!” Chris said, excited. “I think I’m onto discovering this vampire eugenics group, and they’re trying to create more vamps like Andy. Theoretically.”

“That’s not exactly difficult.” Patrick scoffed. “I mean, just turn a mother when they’re pregnant, right?”

“That’s it?” Chris sounded disappointed. “Well, not the point, these wack job vamps are trying to get to the fountain of youth-”

“Nope.” Patrick said. “You lost me. I’m gonna go get dinner.” He turned to hang up the phone, but Chris continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted.

“-in Schiller woods.” Patrick froze in disbelief.

“Schiller woods?” He asked, voice flat. Pete reached over, holding his hand out for the phone, but Patrick held a finger up. Schiller woods was a charitably titled forest with a sparse scattering of trees, created only for business men who hadn’t seen the outside of the gated community walls to take their children. He felt slight disdain towards the situation.

“Yeah, they’re going tonight. You should check it out, see what’s up. It might have to do with Andy.” Chris said. There was a long pause.

“I’ll mention it to them.” Patrick said, and hung up.

“What was that about?” Pete asked. Patrick shrugged.

“Eugenics crazy vampires searching for the fountain of youth. Average Sunday.” Patrick grinned. A smile slid across Pete’s face as well.

“Looks like we do have something to do tonight.” He said.

It didn’t take long for Andy and Joe to get on board with the idea. Pete called Chris back, who had very limited information, as far as wannabe informants went. He could only tell them that there was a well in the nearby forest rumored to hold water that, if it couldn’t make you live forever, could reinvigorate a person with beauty and remarkable health. The four of them took off within the hour.

“Like a team of superheroes!” Pete insisted. Patrick had snorted at this, because if it were true, they were really sub par super heroes. They had only saved one person other than themselves, thus far, he pointed out. And it hadn’t been very exciting. They had seen a girl trying to escape a group of werewolves in an alley, not transformed, but with their fangs out. Andy had pounced on them instinctively, and Joe helped. Pete told the girl in his heavy, magic riddled voice to run away, and she had. The wolves had left, with, as Andy chuckled, their tails between their legs.

Despite this, Patrick was excited. The most magical thing that happened from day to day was Pete’s eyes flashing in front of a critic at a show, and a raving review of them showing up the next day. The fountain of youth seemed an unlikely prospect for him, but the thought of vampires was actually pretty exciting. The only vampire he had seen thus far was Andy, who assured him fervently that he didn’t want to meet any others. But it wasn’t as though morbid curiosity was an easy feeling to escape.

Joe’s van provided the transportation out of the city, and in the trunk that was usually filled with drums and amps, there was now a tent, a huge jug of water, and a bucket full of cheap crosses that they had picked out at a dollar store.

“But don’t crosses only work if one of us is a practicing Christian?” Patrick had asked as Pete began sweeping armfuls into a basket.

“It helps if the holder believes in its power.” Pete agreed. “But Christianity is the largest religion worldwide, and if enough people believe in it, it’ll still do enough to keep a vampire back for a minute or so.” Patrick had just shrugged and went with it. He found a rosary on his bedside table that he had inherited from a dead great grandmother, and shoved it in his pocket, just in case.

The drive out to the woods was largely uneventful. Traffic trying to get out of the city at six in the evening was predictably tortuous. It was hugely improved by hearing Grand Theft Autumn on an alternative station, an eye widening event. Andy was still required to sit in the back while Joe was driving, but they spoke civilly to each other.

By the time they managed to escape the city and get to the forest, it was nearly 8, and the woman shutting down the front gates looked dubious about letting them in, but did so anyway, thanks to a quiet but deep word from Pete.

“You know, paying to go to the woods,” Joe shook his head. “It’s ridiculous. I mean, I get they can’t just let a troupe of druggies build a meth lab, but shouldn’t it belong to the people?”

“Yeah, well,” Andy looked disgusted, glaring out the window. “That’s what happens.” Joe pulled up to a parking spot in silence, and said brightly that they were going to leave the van there.

“Ready to find the fountain of youth?” He asked, smirking at the others. Patrick mostly felt ready for the adventure to end, after two hours stuck in a car with broken air conditioning, and now left in the no less muggy park, but presumably it would be cooler in the shade of the woods. A mosquito stung his arm.

“Did anyone think to bring bug spray?” He asked suddenly, looking at the welling pink bump of a bug bite. Silence surrounded their parking space, as the screams of excited kids assaulted their ears.

“Not really an issue for me.” Andy shrugged, looking sheepish. “Sorry.”

“Well, fuck.” Joe sighed. “Think we could borrow a soccer mom’s?”

“Hey,” Pete chided. “Don’t knock soccer moms. They’re nice, they might let us.”

“Forget it.” Patrick sighed. “We apparently are a bad tabletop RPG, and we need to go find the fountain of youth before it gets dark. Which is a little bit beyond ridiculous.”

“Not so bad.” Joe said. “It’s just a well, from what I’ve heard.”

“A well?” Pete said, “Like the well that all the soccer moms you were talking about are walking right towards?”

“No way.” Andy said, shaking his head decisively. “Can’t be that one. I mean, a vampire couldn’t even get to that. It’s in the middle of a sunny field.” Patrick, Joe, and Pete all turned to stare at him. Andy groaned, raising his eyes skyward.

“Assume for a moment that I’m an anomaly.” He sounded annoyed.

“Interesting proposition, though.” Pete said. “I mean, Chris did say vampire eugenics, so what if you weren’t the only one?”

“I’m probably not.” Andy looked around, “But even still, most vampires are a bit more…” He paused, and Patrick cocked his head, curious. “Obvious.” Andy finished, uncomfortable, and seeming to dodge the subject.

“Maybe there is another well.” Pete said. “But we should monitor this one too.”

“You make it sound,” Patrick sighed, “Like we’re a real operation. I mean, we bought fifty cent crosses to fend these guys off, and we don’t even have holy water. Honestly, this isn’t very high tech.”

A woman pulled walked away from the well, sipping water out of her Red Cross water bottle, and grinned widely. She tossed a grin over at the band. Andy smiled politely back, and she grinned wider, just at him, with tv perfect white teeth. Patrick ignored the exchange, continuing on his rant.

“Honestly, lets just go look around in the woods and see if we find another well. It’s the second longest day of the year, we’ve got some time before it gets dark, so we can come back here if we don’t find anything else.” He thought he sounded very reasonable, but Andy was still smiling at the girl, sort of thunderstruck. Pete was snickering as he looked at them, but Joe turned to Patrick and shrugged.

“Sounds like a plan.” He drawled, and began to kick the trunk open when it didn’t respond to his keys.

“What?” Andy asked, as the girl he was staring at raked her fingers through her hair, pushing the heavy black dreadlocks away from her face.

“When you put your eyes back in their head.” Patrick muttered, turning to help with the trunk. It seemed determined to rust shut every time it closed, but he was determined. Upon opening, Joe dug to the bottom of the bucket for something while Patrick grabbed a plywood cross off the top, shoving it into his pocket. Joe produced a small silver medallion sort of object, in the shape of a hand, when Patrick looked closer.

“Hamsa.” Joe said, shrugging. “Probably works better than a cross, for me anyways.”

“You’re not practicing Jewish, are you?” Patrick asked.

“You’re not practicing Christian, unless you sneak out to church when you claim to be sleeping with your girlfriend.” Joe retorted. Patrick half shrugged, and turned to Pete and Andy, the latter of which was talking with the well girl.

“Try some!” She laughed, holding the white plastic bottle out to Andy. Her voice was appealing, very high pitched without being squeaky, and she did have a sort of presence that almost explained Andy’s sudden attraction to her. “It’s like, life changing water.”

“We should be going?” Patrick suggested, more to Pete than Andy. Andy nodded anyway, and he waved to her, turning to the others and looking rather annoyed.

“You sure that wasn’t it?” Pete asked, as they began walking toward the small amount of forest. “I mean, everyone seemed really thrilled about the water.”

“I’m sure it’s very exciting for the white collars to learn how their servants harvested water way back when,” Joe said, “But we’re supposed to be looking for magic water. Not just water that wasn’t filtered out of the Chicago river.”

The beating sun was removed from their heads as soon as they stepped into the foliage, the air dropping at least 10 degrees, Patrick felt certain. The bugs, however, found a way to increase, and he swatted at them as he walked, not needing to worry about roots on the heavily treaded trail. Too heavily treaded, actually. They passed three families with screaming children after only a few minutes of walking, and lots of mothers looking annoyed with the occasional swears spotting their conversation.

“We should get off the trail.” Andy sighed after a only about 5 minutes. “This is getting us nowhere.” Patrick couldn’t help but agree, and he said so. Pete looked antsy, but agreed nonetheless, and Andy led the way into the forest. It was still sparse from too many people, with too many trees and not enough bushes and weeds and flowers on the ground. Too many people tried to get away from it all, and they didn’t end up getting very far at all, it would seem.

Walking away from the trail was quieter, though. The laughter of little kids sank further away the deeper they got, and the darker it got outside. The sun was only just beginning to set, but the trees got thicker at the trunks, cutting off the light that would have piled over the horizon.

They walked through the forest for a few minutes, as the sun began to fall lower through the sky, the sounds of children screaming and parents sighing got farther and farther away. They walked deeper into the foliage, further away from the trees, until Andy stopped suddenly, and when the others stopped, they heard nothing but silence.

"What happened?" Patrick asked.

"I can't hear anything." Andy said. "I mean, like, I can't hear anything. My hearing's a lot better than yours. I should still be able to hear the camp site." Silence rang out around them, and Patrick realized that they couldn't even hear the leaves on the trees rustling or the snaps of sticks underfoot, rustling from creatures moving. The sun was below the horizon, even though light was still in the sky.

"If you can't hear the campsite," Pete said, slowly. "Does that mean that we're lost?"

"Well." Andy said. "We're you hoping I could get you guys back?" Silence hung heavy over them again.

"Okay, this is ridiculous." Patrick sighed. "This patch of woods is so small. It is like, so so small. My high school campus might be larger than this."

"Well, we're lost." Joe said. "A testament to what city kids we are that we got lost in like, a tiny ass patch of woods.

“Anybody bring a compass?” Pete asked.

“Two of us have super hearing and super sight.” Patrick said, annoyance thick under his voice. “Somehow, it didn’t seem necessary.”

“I can’t hear anything either.” Joe said, shrugging. Patrick groaned, leaning up against a tree. He decided, in that moment, he was never listening to Hey Chris again, because no one ridiculous enough to answer to Hey like a real name could give them honest advice.

“It probably was the well back at the campsite.” Andy said. “I mean, everyone said that was the special well.”

“It’s too obvious.” Joe snapped at him.

“It’s not a goddamn Scooby Doo mystery.” Andy retorted. “I mean, Jesus, were you expecting a cult of cloak wearing goons in the middle of the forest.”

“Yeah, I forgot,” Joe said, sarcasm dripping off his voice. “Vampires usually have their moms get magic well water for them. Like a grownup version of juiceboxes!”

Andy was about to continue when Pete raised a finger up to shush them. Patrick couldn’t hear anything, but Pete was looking up at his forehead quite intently, as though he were focusing on what he was trying to hear.

“Dude, there’s nothing-” Joe began, but Pete shushed him again.

“You don’t hear it?” He asked, and without waiting for a reply, he began walking forward. Patrick followed thoughtlessly, and heard two sets of footsteps following behind him. Pete began stomping over ferns and half crouching as he walked, and stopped behind a tree.

“What is it?” Patrick asked in a hoarse whisper, trying to barely breathe out the words.

“It sounds like a-” Pete paused, looking straight down at the ground, and up into Patrick’s eyes again. “It sounds like a pulse.”

********

Pete really wished that everyone wouldn’t look at him like he was crazy as often as they did. Granted, he was hearing something that the two with superhuman hearing couldn’t catch, but they all tended to forget that he wasn’t entirely human himself. And in any case, it wasn’t quite hearing. It came from his ears, but it felt more like balance, or depth perception, or something similar, he couldn’t quite place a name to it. But he could definitely feel a pulse coming from within the forest, and it was strangely enticing. Like a siren song.

“Please don’t look like that.” he said cooly. Andy and Joe looked down, but Patrick was still staring at him with rapt curiosity. Pete felt strangely scrutinized.

“There’s a pulse coming from this woods.” He repeated. “It’s pumping, or swelling, I don’t know. I can feel it.” It sounded ridiculous and he knew it, but Patrick got on his knees, pressing his ear to the ground.

“Ew.” Patrick muttered, brushing dirt off the side of his face before laying it right back down on the dirt. He stood back up and looked at Pete. He stared at him, eyes so blank and intense that Pete was certain he could feel it too, that he felt the strange and alien life that was right under their feet, and in the air they breathed.

“No clue, man.” Patrick shrugged, and Pete rolled his eyes. The sun was nearly down, to the point that they would need flashlights soon, and Joe seemed to have noticed, looking uncomfortably at the sky.

“We should find our way back.” Andy said. “We need better light in here, and we could at least, okay, hear me out, monitor the well for one night. Vampires mostly come after dark.”

“You’ve got a point.” Pete said slowly. He didn’t want to leave, not yet, but they would be next to useless in the forest after dark.

Yet even after Joe agreed, they couldn’t find their way back to the campsite. the forest, as small as it was, seemed to be thickening around them. And even walking in one straight line, they couldn’t find a place for the leaves and wood to thin out.  A twilight glow clung to the earth, but it was dark enough that Pete and Patrick couldn’t get ten steps without one of them tripping over a root and cursing.

Andy turned, perhaps to tell them that five year olds could get through the woods with more ease and grace than the two of them, but stopped short at the sight of something.

“What is it?” Pete snapped, irritated, and still hearing the pulse, more mysterious than it was annoying.

“We’re going in circles.” Andy said, looking despondent over the fact. Patrick let out a groan, and Pete’s eyes narrowed.

“We’ve been walking straight this whole time!” He yelled, and Andy shrugged.

“But we already passed that tree.” Andy said, his voice mild mannered. “Last time we walked by, you tripped over the root and landed on your face.”

“Super.” Pete said, and he sat down, his back against the tree. The others stared at him for a second, and he looked up at them, eyebrows raised.

“Well, I’m not gonna walk in a weird time loop for the rest of the night.” He said, glaring around as though waiting for someone to challenge him. He felt tired and too hot, even in the cooler darkness. The pulse was drilling into his skull like the start to a painful migraine, and traipsing around this forest was the last thing he wanted to do. The path would have helped them now that it was dark, and instead tree roots grew with careless abandon, and it all looked like the same mess of green and brown everywhere.

“Have you considered,” Joe began, after a very long time of Pete sitting there, back to the tree, eyelids sliding lazily shut. “Have you considered that you are being ridiculously over dramatic?”

“We are lost” Pete groaned, and yes, he was being over dramatic, and yet, he wasn’t about to walk around if there was no point.

“Yeah.” Andy said. “Sitting down isn’t going to make us un-lost.” He said, in a voice trying to be gentle.

“I’m not gonna wander around this dark-ass forest.” Pete whined. He felt dumb, but he had to be resolute about this.

“I’m with you.” Patrick said, to Pete’s noticeable shock. Both Andy and Joe seemed annoyed, but Patrick sat down next to Pete.

“If either of you is interested in finding a way out, that’d be great, but the forest is small. Someone will come by in an hour, maybe two, especially if there really is a magic well out here.” He said, his voice thick with disdain.

“Unbelievable.” Andy sighed, shaking his head, and Patrick laid his head down on Pete’s shoulder, a warm weight that Pete was grateful to have anchoring him. The pulse was crawling under his skin, and having Patrick touching him seemed to quiet it down, at least in some small way.

The light continued to dim until the tops of the leaves glowed silvery from the moon’s glow. Patrick’s breathing was very steady, leading Pete to believe that he was either falling asleep, or already out. And the forest seemed to fall asleep around them as well, Joe and Andy’s impatiently pacing around being the only sound or movement that disturbed the area.

In one quick breath, the spell was broken by a strangled gasp coming from behind the tree Pete was leaning against. He grabbed the edge of the trunk, whirling himself around the tree to look at where the noise had come from, and knocked Patrick off his shoulder in the process, letting him fall to the dirt with a grunt.

Leaves and sticks crunched, and a heavy breathing grew louder as someone ran towards them, tripping over the same root Pete had given up on and sprawling to the ground at their feet.

“You okay?” Pete asked, staring at the figure that was lying on its face in front of them. When it sat up, Pete could see, even in the dim light, that it was a girl, with a frightened yet determined appearance, who stared around the area with a wild gaze.

“Have you found it yet?” She asked, wide eyes blinking rapidly.

“Found what?” Pete asked her in return, holding her gaze as best he could in an attempt to calm her down.

“Are you not searching?” She asked. Pete shook his head, and she looked around at the other three, who all shook their heads in turn as well.

“Well then,” she stood up, brushing the dirt and crushed leaves off of her already tattered looking hiker’s outfit, “I don’t think you can really help me, then.”

“What are you looking for?” Joe asked. The girl gave him a disdainful glare, sweeping tangled hair out of her eyes.

“I’m not going to lose this search to some nimrod high schoolers that don’t even know the preciousness of what I’m looking for!” she told him. Joe rolled his eyes when she wasn’t looking at him.

“You know your way out of this place?” Andy asked, and oh yeah, Pete may have forgotten about the fact that they were still stuck in a magic woods.

The girl cast them a dirty look so reminiscent to Jeanae that Pete recoiled slightly.

“It’s after dark!” she cried. “After dark, on the summer solstice! How did you even end up in here?!”

“We’re hunting eugenic crazy vampires that are out to steal the fountain of youth.” Joe replied, his voice so deadpan that Pete had to glare at Patrick, who fell over in a fit of giggles. “It’s not even the summer solstice, that was June 21st.”

“Have any of you even picked up a Gogol story?” she sighed, looking resigned to giving a history lesson that Pete really wasn’t interested in. But the name sparked his interest.

“Nikolai Gogol?” He asked. She nodded fervently, and he nodded back at her. “Some, why?”

“It’s the Eve of Ivan Kupala,” she said. “A slavic solstice celebration based in Poland.” She waited a moment for recognition, and, raising her eyes theatrically to the heavens, continued to speak. “On the eve of Kupala, legend says that after dark, young bachelors and bachelorettes may enter into a forest, any forest, and have until midnight to find the flowering fern. At exactly midnight, the fern will blossom into a great flaming bloom, and the seeker may harvest it to find wisdom, protection, and t- true love.” she stuttered over the last two words, as though embarrassed by them. Pete grinned knowingly at her.

“Hoping for Prince Charming?” He teased, and she glared at him.

“After dark, all eligible bachelors and bachelorettes inside the forest are to remain there until one of them finds the fire flower.” She said. “Looking for Cinderella?”

“Actually, not all of us are single.” Patrick said, looking over at Joe, who shrugged back at him. The girl rolled her eyes.

“Are you married?” She asked. Patrick shook his head, and she clucked her tongue.

“Yeah, well old Polish folktales were pretty big on eternal bondage, so you’re eligible.” She brushed her unkempt hair out of her eyes again. Pete personally thought that ‘eternal bondage’ sounded a bit more sinister than marriage, but he let it slide.

“Well, Fountain of Youth or a magical fire flower, which sounds more likely.” Joe muttered.

“What’s your name?” Pete asked the girl.

“Ellie.” she said. She rubbed her hands up and down her flannel clad arms, and Pete put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Ellie smiled graciously at him, stirring something warm in Pete’s chest with her large brown eyes.

“Could that be what the pulse is?” Patrick asked, breaking Pete out of his spell. Pete turned to him.

“Pulse?” He asked, annoyed. Patrick groaned.

“The pulse you said you felt?” Andy reminded him.

Pete shook his head like he was getting water out of his ears, disoriented.

“Right, the pulse, yeah.” he said. If he focused, he could still feel the dull throb under his feet. “It’s just sort of in the forest.” Pete looked around uncomfortably. “I mean, I can’t feel where it’s coming from, if it’s coming from somewhere.”

“The flower is life giving!” Ellie piped up eagerly. “Do you feel its call as well?”

“Well, it’s just like-” Pete paused. “Like the forest has a heartbeat.”

“Do you want to help me look?” Ellie asked, and Pete turned to the others. Joe rolled his eyes, and Patrick looked resigned. Andy sighed, “We may as well do something if we’re really stuck here until midnight.”

“Sure.” Pete smiled winningly down at Ellie.

The began to walk around the small forest again, Pete standing close to Ellie and engaging in conversation with her. When words of the conversation behind him drifted up to them, Pete had to smile to himself. Patrick was trying to mediate conversation between Joe and Andy, which was easier than usual in that moment. Pete could hear the occasional phrase like “annoying casanova”, and he could feel their annoyance. He could also feel Ellie’s warming to him, more sudden and more powerful than what girls usually felt, but perhaps a part of the magic that he accepted without question.

And while he maybe should have questioned it, Pete was growing to learn that supernatural only bred more supernatural. The deeper he got involved in the world, the more apparent it made itself. His mother had tried to shelter him from magic as much as possible whilst still having taught him to be responsible with his powers, but so far it felt as though he and his band were doing good for the world.

“What time is it?” Ellie asked after a while. Some moonlight was now filtering through the tops of the trees, and the ground was stained silver.

“Eleven thirty six.” Andy replied instantly. Pete didn’t ask how he knew, and neither did the girl, who groaned in frustration.

“We have to find the fern before it blooms!” She groaned, and Pete gave her a sympathetic smile.

“This forest is filled with ferns.” Patrick said. “Just pick one.”

“Idiot!” She snarled, and Pete felt offended on behalf of his friend. “Ferns don’t grow flowers, and this will already be flowering, it just won’t have bloomed!”

“Is it already emitting light?” Andy asked.

“It should be!” She yelled, shaking the leaves on the trees with her intensity. Pete could feel her irritation, pulled taut like a poorly strung guitar.

“Look, the forest is tiny. We should be able to see light in here.” Andy said, and Pete could feel the ‘I should be able to see light’ under his words.

“We’ll just have to keep looking.” She sighed. “Maybe we should split up?” She suggested, and both Joe and Patrick instantly shot her down.

“Not gonna happen, Princess.” Joe said, his voice both flat and harsh. “Splitting up has never ended well in fiction or reality.”

“Coward.” She muttered.

“Survivor.” He scoffed. Pete stepped between them, and continued walking forward again, hoping to stave off the argument. Ellie obligingly walked forward with him.

They had only made it another few yards in relative silence, when Patrick pointed, cocking his head.

“That light?” He asked. He sounded bored and annoyed, like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep, and Andy glared at him.

“What light?” He asked crossly. “There is no light up there, I would see it!”

“No, it’s right there!” Ellie pointed, just where Patrick had. Pete couldn’t see what they were looking at, but he felt the pulsing in the woods get heavier.

Ellie and Patrick led the way forward, and soon they stopped in front of a fern, where, if Pete looked closely, he could see a small orange bud peeping out of the middle. It wasn’t glowing. It looked pretty normal.

“The firebloom.” Ellie breathed. “This is it.”

**************

Andy was trying very hard to not feel like a guy in an erectile dysfunction commercial. It wasn’t as though he felt an undying urge to see and be aware of everything, but there was no way that Patrick, who already had bad vision, for the record, could see anything in this dark forest better than he could. He had weird, vampire superpowers, for Christ’s sake. Of course, this led to Pete constantly mocking him for the glasses, which were really reading glasses, honestly, they did make words clearer, but admittedly were mostly cosmetic.

So Patrick shouldn’t have seen the light. There was no light. There was just an orange-y but sticking up out of a fern, but Ellie and Patrick were staring at it, transfixed. And surprisingly, Andy realized that he could see a flickering orange glow reflected in their eyes, yet not on the plant itself.

“Weird.” He said aloud, staring at Patrick and Ellie while they stared at the plant. Neither of them seemed to notice him, they just kept looking at the plant. He looked over at Joe and Pete, who shrugged cluelessly back at him.

“What do you do with the flower now?” Pete asked Ellie. When she didn’t reply, he began snapping in front of her face pointedly. She finally glanced up at him, shaking her head slowly, as though she were waterlogged.

“I have to wait till midnight to harvest it.” She said slowly, clearly trying not to look back at the orange bud. Andy was getting concerned by it’s strange, siren like draw, as was Joe, by the way he looked at Patrick.

“You just pick it?” Andy asked her, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“A circle must be drawn around it, and I can’t succumb to any of the demons-”

“Demons?” Pete asked, his eyes widening with panic. “You never mentioned demons.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Ellie said offhandedly. But something about the intensity of Pete’s stare must have made her double take as well. “They can’t touch me or hurt me physically unless I give in and respond to them. They’ll try to distract me however they can with their words, and as long as I finish without responding, it’ll be fine.”

“What if you do respond?” Pete hissed, glaring at her. Andy drew back in surprise at the intensity.

“I-I…” She seemed stunned by Pete’s anger, and she took a breath to compose herself. “They can touch only if the finder responds, and they kill me.” She said. “No big deal, I just have to keep my mouth shut.”

“Goes to show what you know about demons.” Pete said, and he turned around, giving Joe a very pointed look. To Andy’s shock, and honestly, jealousy, Joe gave him a sympathetic, understanding nod, and they two seemed to have some sort of conversation with their eyes. Andy turned to Patrick for help in understanding the exchange, but he was still staring at the half grown flower.

Ellie had focused on the flower again, so Andy looked at it too.

“So, we just stare at a flower until midnight?” Joe asked, and no one responded, most of them too busy staring at the flower, Andy just not knowing what the answer was.

Honestly, what unnerved Andy the most was the silence. It was as though the whole forest had been put on mute, without the sound of crunching leaves or chirping cicadas, humming crickets. Only the sounds of the five of them could be heard by him, and all of his other senses indicated as well that nothing else lived in the forest. Beyond erie, it was unnatural. And there was nothing even for him to listen to to distract from the odd way Patrick and Ellie seemed drawn to the flower and the conspiratorial glances Pete and Joe kept sharing.

“Eleven fifty seven.” Joe said, after a few minutes of intense staring at the flower.

“If you don’t want to be involved in the harvesting of this flower, and the dealing with demons, I suggest you get away from it.” Ellie warned, and Pete instantly grabbed the back of Patrick’s shirt, dragging him a good fifteen feet back, ignoring his squack of protest and shout of “Christ, Pete, I can walk!” Patrick stood up, and Andy thrust his arm out in front of his chest, blocking Patrick’s path back to the flower. He huffed, but stood where he was.

Pete ran instantly back over to Ellie, who was staring intently at the flower, and had pulled out an ornate looking knife. He pulled her around to face him, her hair whipping around a moment after her.

“Look, you don’t have to do this.” Pete said, looking worried. She sighed, looking deeply into his eyes.

“I want to. I need, to, okay?” She said. Andy saw Pete lean in closer, saying something to the girl that he couldn’t hear. She sighed, looking down, and the two of them spoke softly for a minute, and after a full minute of harsh, intense argument, Pete turned around, striding back to the others. The four of them crowded together, fifteen to twenty feet away from Ellie and the flower.

“Eleven fifty nine.” Joe said, looking down at his watch, then back up at Ellie. She shook out her arms and legs, standing up and staring down at the flower.

“Really,” Andy thought, staring down at the flower. “It’s not even that impressive. Just because the bud happens to be orange, doesn’t mean that-” he cut off his own thoughts as the fern burst into flames, and above it rose- something. It was shining brighter than the sun, and Andy was unable to even look at it, quickly whipping his head around, blinking furiously to see straight again.

Even facing the other way, it was as though the sun had risen in the middle of the forest, bathing them all with light and warmth.

“This is it!” He heard Ellie cry. Andy forced himself to look around, just barely shielding his eyes to the bright light, and seeing a light bleached Ellie stabbing the ceremonial knife into the ground. As soon as the tip of it touched the earth, a dark shadow lept out from the blazing light, causing Ellie to jump back, but not to lose her grip on the knife.

“Eleanor,” The shadow snarled, seemingly formless as it approached her. She dug the knife deeper into the earth, beginning to drag it forward while it was still hilt deep in the ground. “Daughter unloved, from a family that craved a son.”

Ellie pushed the knife forward, biting her lip, and another shadow creature burst from the light. Andy watched, transfixed on the scene.

“Hopeless in love, focused on school, trying to prove a point to someone who wasn’t listening. And you were never good enough!” The second shadow squealed, its voice higher in pitch than the first. Ellie, to her credit, kept pushing forward, ignoring the two as they jeered.

A quarter of the way finished with digging her circle in the ground, a third demon crawled out from the flower, snarling at her. It snapped at her neck, and she gasped, but was careful not to even cry out.

A fourth demon came out, jumping right in front of her, but not touching her.

“You’re too late!” It hissed, pawing at the dirt in front of her. “You’ve come looking for your soulmate, but you have no soulmate.” Her eyes widened, but she pushed the knife forward, as fast as she possibly could, but that deep in the earth, it still took more time than she had, Andy could tell.

“You’re all alone!” A demon wailed, swooping right over her head.

“You’ll never find anyone. No one out there is made for you, and you will die alone!” One screeched, flapping right next to her head. She looked down, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as she kept dragging the knife ahead. Andy turned to see the others, all standing on his left, Patrick and Joe with wide and terrified eyes, and Pete looking dangerously desperate, as though he were about to jump out and help her, but he wasn’t moving yet, and the demons’ shrieking laughter drew Andy’s attention back to Ellie’s plight.

Halfway done with the circle, she grinned to herself, and a new demon hissed, the flower spurting the black shapes, more than ten circling her now.

“Ugly girl,” A slithering shape cackled. “How could anyone love you? Your parents did not, your friends did not, and you are alone.” It spat. She didn’t respond, but she shook her head, and crawled forward, ducking to get out of the way of the ones that swooped and flew. She crawled forward, demons spewing out of the flower, all screaming at her.

It got so that the words were incomprehensible, just mindless screeching and inane babble, though Andy could just barely pick out the occasional word, all awful, like “disappointment” and “alone”, all about how she wouldn’t never find anyone. She had almost reached the end when a particularly large shadow beat its wings right next to her ear, and cried in the loudest voice yet, “YOU ARE WORTHLESS TO ANYONE WHO COULD HAVE LOVED YOU.” With a cry, she pushed the knife forward, touching the first edge of the circle as she collapsed face forward, chest heaving, on the dirt.

All of the black, shadow shapes evaporated, and she lay there for a moment. Pete ran forward to go help her, but Andy grabbed his shoulder, holding him back, Pete turned to Andy, opening his mouth to yell, but Andy pressed a finger over his lips, and Pete nodded, stepping back.

Ellie stood, after a long moment, walking into the center of the circle after she pulled her knife out of the ground. She wiped the dirt off of the knife onto her jeans, walking up to the flower that was still shining bright. She reached her hand out to grasp the stalk of the flower, when a shadow creature, much larger than any of the others, burst forth from the flower. She jumped back, gasping in fear and the demon creature snarled.

“You’re too late.” It said, it’s tone colder than the others. “The demons told the truth. You are alone in the world, and you have no soulmate.” As it stopped speaking, Ellie let out a harsh scream.

“NO!” She wailed, slashing at the demon with her knife. It laughed, low and dark, and slashed across her chest with it’s front leg. Ellie was sent flying backwards, landing at Andy’s feet in a crumpled heap, bleeding profusely from gashes on her chest so deep they had torn through her ribs. A rushing, roaring sound filled Andy’s ears, holding him immobile as he stared at the corpse lying right beside him. He distantly heard Pete whimper, and Patrick inhale sharply. And then, for the first time since they had entered the forest, he heard the soft paw padding of an animal.

When Andy looked up, he saw the large shape that had killed Ellie taking shape as it walked toward them. What had been black and formless was getting sharper along the edges, fur and legs and eyes becoming apparent as a black bear with glowing red eyes approached them.

“You helped the girl?” It snarled. Andy almost replied, but the words got caught in his throat. He knew, yes, remembered that he couldn’t talk, and if he talked there would be nothing stopping the demon from going after him.

“I’m talking to you, half breed.” The bear was focused on Andy. It’s red eyes glowed menacingly at him. “One foot in the door and one foot out, never truly belonging to a species, much less a family, other than your blood whore of a mother.” Andy bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, trying to focus on that rather than the demon in front of him. It turned to Joe, suddenly.

“And did you not want a shot at the flower? Have a power that could make you useful rather than a poor smelling nuisance?” It laughed, Joe sneered, and Andy felt fear course through his veins as he silently willed Joe not to say anything.

“Go back to hell.” Joe snapped, and Andy rounded on him.

“You can’t speak to them!” Andy screamed at him, but the bear had reared back already, about to swipe its thick claw through Joe’s chest as well. Andy rammed it in the chest, knocking the bear over backwards, roaring all the way.

“We need to get out of here!” Patrick said, stepping backwards into the foliage and waiting for one of them to follow him. No one moved.

“We can’t.” Pete whispered, still staring at the dead girl. “The forest has sealed itself.

“Well now you’ve done it!” Andy turned to Joe. The bear was stirring, but not up yet. “You can’t talk to them!” He yelled.

“I thought that only applied to her!” Joe yelled back, puffing his chest out. “I didn’t summon those things by drawing the damn circle!”

Andy seethed. As the bear stirred, the original black shapes began pouring out of the flower again, coming out to over a dozen, all changing from black and formless to forest creatures in front of their eyes. Birds and snakes and squirrels with black fur and glowing red eyes.

“That’s why it’s quiet.” Andy muttered to himself. Everything that should have been in the forest was sucked into the flower, spat back out in a demon form.

“Any bright ideas?” Patrick asked, his voice trying to sound casual though it was clear he was quite panicked. Andy looked to Pete, who seemed to know the most about the myths, but he seemed too out of the situation to formulate a plan, so Andy decided to wing it.

“We have to get to the flower.” he said. “They have to stop once we harvest it.”

“Your proof being?” Joe asked, and Andy glared at him.

“Well it’s better than yelling at them.” he snapped, and ran forward into the throng of demons.

******

Joe was starting to compile a list of monsters he had fought. And a list of monsters he never wanted to fight again. If it were a venn diagram, all of them would appear in the mid section, because he never wanted to go through any of these fights again. Especially not this one, though.

While Andy charged forward towards the flower, Joe was left trying to fight the demon animals off and away from a semi-catatonic Pete and a fleshy, very human, Patrick. Even after shifting, it was all he could do to keep them from getting killed by the demonic animals. Patrick was fending off some of them pretty well, kicking aside the squirrels and chipmunks, swatting the smaller birds away.

In an attempt to get Pete to do something, Joe dragged him in front of Ellie’s body on a hunch, which turned out to be a good one. Pete earnestly defended the body of the girl, knocking aside demons almost effortlessly, at least when they were small.

The larger birds were the hardest to handle, swooping and diving and stabbing with their sharp beaks, pecking at Joe’s head and neck even through thick fur, and they were relentless. Patrick tried to beat them off of Joe’s head and back, where he couldn’t reach, but it was honestly just making things that much harder to maneuver.

Joe could see that Andy was struggling, unable to really power through the demons, and Joe howled at him, trying to get him to come back and protect the others while he made a run for the flower, which he could get to far more easily. He howled angrily at Andy, but Andy didn’t even spare him a glance. If there were any less demons, Joe could shift back long enough to yell at him, but even a moment’s slip could mean a fatality for any of the three of them.

A particularly large bird swooped down onto Joe’s head, digging its talons down into Joe’s fur, and he howled, tossing his head to the side to shake the demon off, but to no avail. The talons dug even deeper, blood running thick out of the sides of his neck, and he felt the extra weight of two people trying to beat it off of his head. He turned and growled to the right, where Patrick jumped in wide eyed surprise, but the bird had let go after a particularly heavy blow to the skull from Pete.

Joe howled again, loud as he could, and Andy turned, catching his eye for a moment, but that was all he needed. He ran forward, fast as he could through the thicket of black, malicious shapes that he had unleashed on the band. Andy let out a snarl of annoyance, but passed Joe going the other way, finally getting the message. Joe heard Pete scream behind him, but didn’t pause to look around. He simply had to keep running, ignoring whatever scratched and bit at him as he ran.

The huge bear paused in front of him, but Joe leapt over it in one powerful bound, landing on the other side and keeping up his stride. He tore through the last of the creatures, the giant, glowing orange blossom in sight, too bright to keep in his direct line of vision. He was merely yards away when the giant bird, only temporarily stunned by Pete, swooped down again, and something tore deep into the flesh on Joe’s back. He howled, but dashed the last few yards and ripped the flower out of the ground with his teeth. The momentum he had gained kept him flying forward until he sprawled out on the forest floor, the stem cutting in between his teeth, and the bitter taste of resin filling his mouth.

As soon as he fell, the forest came back to life. The sound of fighting and screeching disappeared, the small woods now filled with the sounds of crickets chirping and animals scurrying away from them, and the labored breathing of three boys behind him. Joe shifted back, modesty far gone, and he spat the flower out onto the ground. It had stopped shining, by then. Joe put back on the bottoms he had worn, that fell off pretty easily when he changed form, but halfway into putting his shirt back on, the fabric made contact with the giant slice across his back from the bird. He hissed, pulling the shirt back off, a little bit of blood dampening the bottom hem.

“Shit, dude, are you okay?” Patrick asked, stumbling over to Joe. He looked pale and dead tired, but not mortally wounded for once. Joe grimaced at him.

“Super.” he laughed dryly, and Patrick winced a bit. Joe glanced over at Pete and Andy, Pete sunk down over the body of the dead girl again, and Andy looking at him worriedly.

“What do we do?” Patrick asked, staring at the girl.

“Can you leave anonymous tips about dead bodies? Or, no, they would trace it when they couldn’t get evidence.” Joe thought out loud.

“Her name is Ellie.” Pete said, his tone heavy and dark. “And we can’t just leave her here.”

“What other options do we have?” Joe asked with a shrug. “I mean, we can pull her closer to the trail so someone finds her sooner, but what else? How do you plan on explaining the weird polish mythology and her getting murdered by demons? Why were we in the forest with her? It’ll look too suspicious.”

“She isn’t just a body!” Pete looked up at Joe, distraught. “We can’t just leave her to get eaten ali-” he never finished the phrase.

“To rot.” Patrick suggested, softly. Pete turned on him, looking ready to start shouting again. “Look, whatever we do, we can’t stay here long. Someone other than me is bleeding out, for once.” Patrick laughed slightly, but not as though he thought it was very funny. “We should get him to a hospital, or Chris’ place, something.” Joe felt grateful, if a bit embarrassed. He didn’t want to feel excessively weak, but standing the rest of the night, deliberating, sounded like his own personal hell.

“But Pete’s right,” Andy spoke up, and Joe’s irritation at him inflamed again. As he was about to snap at him, and continued, his tone heavy to prevent Joe from trying to speak over him. “We owe it to her to do something. I can suggest to someone at the campground that a body might be in the woods, and they should check it out. I might not be a full vampire, but I certainly have enough compulsion for that.”

“Fine.” Joe agreed coldly, and Pete nodded reluctantly, kissing the fallen girl on the forehead before standing up. Joe didn’t roll his eyes, but he wished he could do so without feeling like the ultimate cold heart. He wasn’t desensitized to death, far from it, but he was too tired to deal with nearly anything anymore.

“What about the flower?” Patrick asked, just as they had begun to walk back toward the path. Joe shrugged.

“You want it? It’s supposed to bring mind reading, your soul mate, and untold power.” He wiggled his fingers at Patrick on the last phrase, annoyance and sarcasm coloring his voice. Patrick shook his head.

“You guys make superpowers look like a pain, and honestly?” he blushed, looking down at his feet. “I think I may already have found my soulmate.” Joe groaned aloud, not in the mood for Patrick’s over the top sappiness at all.

“What about you?” Patrick asked. “I think it’s yours anyways.”

Joe shrugged again. He walked over to the flower, crushing it under his shoe, grinding it into the dirt.

“More trouble than it’s worth.” He said shortly, and he and Patrick joined the others in walking back out of the forest.

Unlike earlier, it took them no more than five minutes before they were under the open, air polluted sky just outside of Chicago. The campsite was filled with a new set of sounds and smells, like bugspray and sunscreen, AM radio and snoring. Andy walked over to the first tent they came across, shook the woman awake, and suggested in a strange, muzzy sort of voice that there might be a body in the woods, and she should tip off the police, maybe check it out herself in the morning. She nodded, blearily, and instantly stood up, walking towards the payphone while the band stumbled back to the van.

“Dude,” Pete sounded alarmed, suddenly looking at Joe. “You can’t drive like that.”

“The hell I can’t, Tinkerbell!” Joe snorted. “I’m certainly not letting any of you idiots touch my car.”

“’snot a car.” Patrick murmured.

“Whatever!” Joe snapped.

“No, really, you’re bleeding a lot.” Pete said.

“I can feel it, but thanks for letting me know, I was really worried about whether or not I was actually bleeding there, or if it had just started raining hot and red.” Joe climbed into the driver’s seat, trying not to flinch at the sting of the seat on his wound and give Pete more reason to worry. His back would have to touch something wherever he sat, so he may as well keep driving.

One phone call inside the ER ensured that Heychris showed up pretty soon to the unfamiliar, suburban hospital. By the time they were stitching Joe up, he ran in to join the others.

“Wow.” He said, staring at the giant gash that crossed Joe’s back. “You guys are seriously myth magnets, aren’t you?”

“Danger magnets, more like.” Andy snorted, and Joe made a small noise of agreement.

“So, just to recap.” Heychris sighed. “You didn’t find the fountain of youth well, you didn’t see any weird vampires or,” He paused to turn to Andy, “or half vampires, but instead, you found a magical Polish fire flower, met a girl who then died, fought demons, and then got rid of the magic power flower.”

“That’s the fast summary.” Joe agreed, hissing as the needle was pulled up through his skin again. “Are these the dissolving stitches, or will I have to get them removed?” he asked the doctor.

“They can be removed at any hospital, but they will have to be removed.” The doctor said, and Joe sighed.

“You left the magic flower behind.” Chris repeated, disbelievingly. “The magic flower that no one has successfully harvested in millennia.

“To be honest, I don’t think it was worth all the trouble it caused.” Joe told him.

“No, it wasn’t.” Pete agreed.

“Still, at least you didn’t hospitalize Patrick again.” Chris teased, punching Patrick in the arm.

“Yeah, see the next time we go hunting down your supernatural bullcrap.” Patrick rolled his eyes at Chris. Joe felt, at the moment, inclined to agree.

They drove home, Andy in Chris’ car to spend the night at his apartment, not for any stated reasons, but for the unspoken reason of giving Joe more space to rest. Had they been saying it outloud, Joe might have felt obligated to thank him, so he was even more grateful for the nonverbal arrangement. It would have been hard to relax with the vampire so nearby.

After they got back to the apartment, Patrick went straight to sleep, but Pete stayed out in the living room while Joe got something out of the fridge, not that anything in there was much worth eating.

“Joe?” Pete spoke up after a few minutes of silence, just as he was about to walk back into his room. Joe turned wearily to him. Pete wasn’t looking at Joe, just staring ahead.

“When single people looked for the fire flower,” Pete began, “In the stories, anyway, they would meet up during the search. It was said that they had a better chance of finding their soulmate there than with the flower itself.”

Joe waited a long time for Pete to continue, which he finally did, with a sigh.

“What if she did find her soulmate?”

Joe stared at him, then shrugged.

“There’s no use in wondering.” he said, and went into his own room.

When he awoke to use the bathroom far too early the next morning, he passed Patrick’s room, and heard Patrick’s voice, speaking softly.

“They only found soulmates in those also seeking the flower. Even if you were hers, she isn’t yours. Not by a long shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry this took forever. Know it seems random, but much like a tv show, you have to clear though some write-off episodes before getting to the main plot, which is coming soon. Chapter title by The Smiths.


	5. Fashion Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys go to look into a series of disappearances while in Indianapolis, and discover something more sinister underneath. This would be easier to investigate, Patrick thinks, if Pete didn't insist on their going undercover.

When the early morning sun filtered into the van, Joe felt certain the warmth would put him straight to sleep. He had almost driven off the road twice, but not even the rumble strips could wake up the boys sleeping in the back of the van. Sort of boys, Joe mentally corrected himself. The boys that most people thought of weren’t mythological creatures. Still, it wasn’t as though he was any different. Maybe all the moodiness stemmed from the proximity of this morning to the full moon. It didn’t bug him as much as it used to, but he still needed to change, and it was still an effort to remain human. They had a night off for this one, but knowing Pete, they’d find some basement club to play in anyway.

A sign on the off ramp said Dennys, and Joe threw the wheel to the right, a little more forcefully than necessary to wake himself up. He heard a body slam onto the far right wall of the van, but no one spoke. They all slept like the dead.

The label was working wonders for their credibility, and they were getting paid. Real paychecks, to pay for groceries and rent and seeing other concerts, and, these days, a supply of Holy Water. Being half vampire, Andy tried it out on himself out of curiosity. The effect was rather like tear gas, burning his skin and eating through the hair on his arm where he had dabbed it on. It looked painful, and he assured them it would be far more painful if used on other vampires. Which they hadn’t yet run into, thankfully. Yet Holy Water worked on other creatures too, they had found out. Last month just after buying the Holy Water, there had been an unpleasant incident with a Jersey devil, and none of them were eager to take an East coast tour after that. The Holy Water worked, though.

Thanks to their newfound competence, they were on a tour. A midwest tour, so it didn't quite count, but they were on the road, playing real venues, doing things every kid that grew up with a guitar in their room always dreamed of. It was a dream come true, except for these less glamorous mornings when Joe was stuck on the last leg of the trip. Everyone else got to sleep and snore in three day old clothes.

“Living the dream.” Joe muttered to himself, turning into the Denny’s parking lot. He found a half full bottle of water on the passenger seat, screwed the cap on, and extended the claws on his right hand. He stuck the bottle of water to the ceiling in the back with a wad of used gum, and punctured five holes in it with his claws. The water must have hissed out for more than five seconds before he heard the first exasperated cry. Joe grinned, and wordlessly climbed out of the van, slamming the door shut as loud as he could.

Joe’s band walked into the restaurant a few moments after him, slightly damper and much more annoyed than usual.

“Morning.” Joe said brightly.

“I hope the water got all over your fucking guitars.” Pete grumbled, staring out the window.

“There wasn’t enough left to damage a walkman if you poured the water directly on it.” Joe snorted. “You guys are just wimps.”

“You know, I offered to drive the last stretch.” Andy said, mildly. He said everything mildly. And Joe had no reply to this, because he remembered that Andy had offered this. It felt dangerous, sleeping while he was definitely awake. Not that he would mention it to anyone else, but letting his guard down was something Joe wasn’t yet prepared to do. If Andy turned on either of the others, what could they do against a vampire in the prime of his life? Pete was athletic, and Patrick was far from unhealthy, but they weren’t that strong. Hell, Joe wasn’t, but he stood a better chance than the other two put together.

“Conserve your strength, they’re still not serving anything but fruit syrup for you here.” Joe told Andy. Andy let out a weary sigh, gazing down at the breakfast menu in despondence. “Nothing wrong with fruit syrup, of course,” Joe continued, a smile quirking at the edge of his mouth. “Get the strawberry, maybe it’ll satiate your bloodlust.” He made claws at Andy, pulling a growling face. Pete flattened himself to the booth, staring at Joe’s hands with wide eyes. Joe winced, retracting the claws on his right hand. Andy sighed, shaking his head in that typical “holier than thou” look that Joe couldn’t stand. So much for peacemaking.

“How did we end up at Denny’s?” Pete asked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Well, we drove here.” Joe said. Their waitress walked up to them.

“You guys need some more time, or are you ready to order?” She asked, in the most bored voice Joe had ever heard outside the walls of New Trier High.

“We’re ready.” Joe said. They had been to enough fast food places over the past year that they each had their top three orders memorized at every chain in the midwest. There weren’t enough Steak ‘n Shakes in the country, Joe thought to himself as the told her what they wanted.

“It’ll be right up.” The waitress said, walking away with an overemphasized sway in her step to make her long blonde hair swish around her back. Joe wondered if she was trying to show off for one of them, or if she just always walked like she was the queen of a county fair.

“Patrick, are you even awake?” Pete asked, snapping in front of Patrick’s nose.

“Yes.” Patrick said. It wasn’t entirely convincing, as  his eyes were still closed, and he had huddled in on himself for warmth with his head slumped down on his collar.

“Very convincing.” Joe told him, and Patrick mumbled a sleepy “thanks.”

“I need you awake for this, though.” Pete sighed. “And I don’t wanna charmspeak you awake.”

“Sorry, what?” Joe asked.

“Doesn’t matter.” Pete waved his hand uncaringly. “But there’s something we have to talk about.”

“You migh nah sleep,” Patrick slurred, skipping the t’s. “But some of us aren’t this chipper and awake at sunrise.”

“So you don’t wanna hear about the sewer alligators?” Pete asked. Andy snorted, Patrick shrugged, and Joe took a sip of his water, clearly able to see that this wasn’t the reaction Pete was looking for.

“Guys, this is important.” Pete said, looking kind of hurt.

“The important thing is that we wake Patrick up enough to drive us the rest of the way because I am done and we’re already almost to Crawfordsville-” Joe began.

“No, guys, listen.” Pete pleaded, his fists hitting the table and making the sparse silverware clatter on what was painted to look like wood. “Chris and I have been talking-”

“There’s those reliable sources our teachers taught us about.” Joe sighed, and Pete turned to glare at him.

“Chris has been talking to his friend out in Indy,” Pete went on, “and within the past few months, ten or eleven women have gone missing after walking downtown. This and an abnormally large amount of reports of alligator sightings-”

“Abnormally large meaning what, one?” Joe asked.

“More like five!” Pete said defensively. “And all the sightings, from people who have never met each other, I might add, report the alligators as albino.”

“Okay, but it’s ridiculous.” Andy said. “The sewer alligator thing is an urban legend, started because some crazy aristocrats in the 1920’s brought home baby alligators for their bratty kids instead of talking to them like decent people, and when they got too big they would flush them down the toilets. None of them survived.”

“Therein lies the brilliance, Andy.” Pete exclaimed. “Who would believe a story like this?”

“I don’t.” Joe snorted. At this time, their waitress returned with three huge platters of food, and a significantly smaller plate that held hashbrowns and strawberries. She passed out the food without another word, and turned immediately to the harassed looking mother and two little children that had been seated down right next to their table. Joe decided she wasn’t trying to impress them, she just walked like that. Poor girl.

“Look,” Pete lowered his voice, “What does checking it out hurt?”

“How would we even go about checking that out?” Andy asked mildly, as always. Trying to be the Logical One.

“By checking in the sewers, of course.” Pete explained, like it was the most rational thing in the world. When Joe rolled his eyes dramatically, Pete turned to Patrick, and said “You agree with me, right ‘trick?” Patrick looked up from his plate, where he was lazily jamming pancakes into his mouth. He stared at Pete while he slowly finished chewing before he responded.

“Honestly, I have no idea what you guys are talking about right now, but I probably agree with Andy.” Patrick said, and Pete sighed in disappointment.

“We’re not going to spend our day crawling through the sewers of Indianapolis.” Andy said, decisively. Not because he thought Pete’s idea was good, but purely out of spite, Joe decided to contradict him.

“I don’t know.” He said, looking pointedly down at his plate. “I mean, if people are going missing, we should try to help them, right?”

“Exactly!” Pete crowed, pointing at Joe and then slamming his hand down on the table. The mother sitting across from them glared daggers at him.

“Yes, but while I’m all for civil disobedience in the name of humanity, I don’t think we should risk all getting arrested for a hunch that Chris’ friend had.” Andy argued. His point was sound, Joe had to admit.

“I in particular thought that this one would interest you, man.” Pete turned to Andy. “Don’t albino alligators that only come out at night and drag women back to their layers sound vaguely vampiric?”

“You didn’t mention that they only came out at night.” Andy said, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Vampire alligators?” Patrick scoffed, a little too loudly. The mother glared over at him now, and made Joe really understand the meaning of “If looks could kill”.

“Okay, we’ve got two shows in Indy, one tonight and one night after tomorrow, yeah?” Pete said.

“Really? Cool.” Joe grinned as he inhaled a huge portion of his plate.

“Yeah, so if we look after the show tonight, we can go investigate anything we find tomorrow.”

“We’re going to look for vampire sewer alligators?” Patrick asked, his eyelids still half shut.

“Yes!” Pete cried.

“No!” Andy yelled.

“Were you guys more normal before you met each other?” Patrick asked, shaking his head.

“Oh, this is gonna be fucking awesome!” Pete yelled, and the mother next to them gasped aloud. “Real super hero shit, you know? Way cooler than owning Wayne Enterprises, we’ll be like, magic crusaders by night, rock stars by- um…”

“Early evening?” Joe suggested. “That sounds glamorous.”

“Oh shut up.” Pete snapped, but he still looked cheerful. The waitress turned away from the mother’s table to face them.

“I’m going to have to ask you to stop disturbing the customers.” The waitress said, her voice cold. They looked up, and Patrick flinched back when he saw her teeth digging into her bright red lips.

“Honestly miss, I think they’re being a bit of a disturbance, don’t you?” Pete said, and his eyes flashed a muted shade of minty green. The waitress stared at him for a second, and then her eyes went glassy, and a vacant smile spread across her face.

“I’m so sorry about all this,” The waitress said sincerely, after a moment’s pause. “I hope it hasn’t been too distracting for you. Tell you what, the meal’s free because of what you’ve had to put up with.” She grinned at them, and walked away, as the mother who had been obviously eavesdropping stared in disbelief.

“Creepy.” Patrick said.

“Charmspeak?” Joe asked.

“Parlor tricks compared to the shit I got into as a kid.” Pete said. “Believe me, you need superpowers to get through boot camp.”

“Creepy.” Patrick repeated, staring at Pete with wide eyes. Pete waved his worry away with a hand.

“Never use it on friends, even when they really piss me off.” He promised, paused for a moment, then added, “Really fucking good news for you guys.”

“We should head out soon anyway.” Andy sighed. “Looks like we have a big night ahead of us.

Joe didn’t quite trust Patrick behind the wheel this early in the morning, but sleep was calling him, and he decided he would rather die in a horrific car wreck than stay awake even a minute more. By the time he woke up, Patrick was honking and swearing in the minimal rush hour of downtown Indianapolis.

“How do you have road rage after growing up in Chicago?” Joe asked, some of his fast growing hair falling into his eyes as he sat up.

“I have road rage because I grew up in Chicago, you MOTHERFUCKER!” Patrick yelled as yet another mid life crisis Mercedes cut them off.

“Well, at least he’s awake.” Andy sighed. It took them longer than it should have to find one of Pete’s many friend’s houses, where they were going to stay for the next three nights, thank god. The van reeked of testosterone in levels comparable to a high school gymnasium. Once they were there, Joe fell right back asleep again, and he was weirdly proud of himself for doing so. One of the many talents developed on the road was the ability to fall asleep anywhere and everywhere. If he ever went back into a college, he would probably fall asleep in seminars, become a complete narcoleptic. But at the moment, it was useful. No one woke him up till it was time to set up, and it was a pleasant surprise when they got there. The venue was nice. It wasn’t one of the big three venues in town, but it was well populated. Some people actually knew the songs. Not well, but definitely the choruses were getting sung.

After the show, they couldn’t go right out to some quiet back streets as Pete wanted, because they were instantly assailed by fans. Girls offering up t-shirts to be signed, not for a pity autograph, and not to get laid, just because they liked the music. Guys offering to buy them beer so they could talk, not because they had ended up playing a gay club again. Guys and girls offering him something to smoke out back with them, which wasn’t new, but they were more fawning than usual. It was nice. It was weird. And it wasn’t exactly fame, but it was, perhaps, notoriety. Which was way more than they had expected to find outside of Chicago.

By the time they had finally managed to break away, Pete looking the most disappointed to leave behind the two college girls he had been talking to, it was after midnight, and mostly Joe just wanted to get something to eat and head back to wherever they were staying, but Pete was buzzing like a livewire full of energy.

“Ready to go kick some vampire alligator ass?” He asked eagerly.

“Well, I hope you’re asking me, because you aren’t.” Joe scoffed. “You wouldn’t stand a chance against a regular alligator.”

“I’ve been thinking of that.” Pete said. “And I was thinking Patrick and I should get weapons.” Patrick spun around to face him, and Joe turned, looking as well. He wasn’t sure what emotion was appropriate, but he felt oddly concerned, though Andy seemed to have taken no notice.

“Weapons?” Patrick asked, his voice tinged with something, not quite trepidation, but something very like it.

“Well yeah, we’re not much use in hand to hand combat.” Pete explained. “Or hand to stone. Or to fin. Or paw. Or, if we’re being honest-”

“Do you think you really should be fighting?” Andy asked, and it sounded gratingly patronizing to Joe.

“I mean, they could get attacked, so it makes sense.” He sprang instantly to the defensive.

“You have a point.” Patrick said. “But if we get weapons, it’ll feel like this is a thing.”

“A thing?” Pete asked.

“Like,” Patrick sighed, his shoulders slumping for a moment as he tried to put his thoughts into words. “Like, it’s not really a thing now, you know? We just draw a lot of bad luck and checked out the vampire thing because we thought it might have to do with Andy, but-” he paused again, “It feels like if we get weapons, or do whatever tonight, that this is something we do.” He tried.

“It’s very rapidly starting to become something we do.” Pete said. “Might as well be prepared, yeah?” Patrick shrugged, as did Joe.

“Are we super heroes now?” Andy asked.

“Yeah, why not?” Pete said. “Helping people and shit. I mean, if we’re gonna tour anyway, why not kill monsters, right?”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s the most logical conclusion I’ve ever heard about working in the music industry.” Andy said. “But it makes more sense than some top 40 stations, so whatever you say, I guess.”

As they spoke, they had been walking, further away from the well lit, nightlife heart of the city, and closer to the business district, with tall, executive offices and not a soul on the streets but a few cream colored papers, not yet wrinkled by the wind.

“So, why here?” Joe asked. His head still felt muffled somehow from the weed he had smoked after the concert, and he couldn’t see anything special about the dark and abandoned streets, other than how utterly eerie they looked with no one out in them. Like a terrible disaster movie, all the buildings intact, but not a soul to be seen.

“The past five disappearances were in a three block radius of this spot.” Pete said. “Roughly. Anyway, I have a plan to get it to come out. We just need it to smell a-”

“Dude, no!” Patrick yelled. Pete glared at him, while Joe looked on in confusion. “I’m not going to be alligator bait.”

“Come on, we’ll be right there.” Pete rolled his eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” Andy asked, and even Joe said, “Dude.” Pete heaved a deep sigh, his eyes raised skywards.

“It’s not even going to be that dangerous.” He said, and turned to Patrick. “I just need you to walk about twenty feet in front of us. Come on, Andy could clear that in under a second, okay?” Pete said.

“You’re being suicidal.” Patrick said.

“It’s not me who’s walking in front.” Pete said, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

“Fine, you’re being vicariously suicidal.” Patrick said. “But I’ll do it, and I hope you feel like shit when you have to explain to my mom why there’s no body for the funeral.”

“Dude, you don’t have to do this.” Joe protested.

“It’s not like he’ll ever shut up about it if I don’t.” Patrick sighed. “Tell me if I need to change directions, alright?” And with that, he began to walk forward at a pretty fast pace, putting distance between the group quickly. Andy was glaring at Pete, looking fairly mutinous about the turn of events, but he didn’t run forward, merely walked a little faster, keeping no more than fifteen feet between them. Neither Pete nor Andy looked happy about the arrangement, Pete muttering, “If they notice the vampire… swear, he doesn’t understand at all…”

After ten minutes, when Joe was starting to get painfully bored with the walking and dead silence, Patrick spun around.

“Okay, do you have a better plan?” he snapped. “Because as much as I love wandering in circles and waiting to get eaten, I do have better plans for my evening.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure these attempts to save people’s lives are really cutting into your phone sex.” Pete shot back. “But this is important.”

“It doesn’t even sound like it’s real.” Joe muttered, and Pete looked wounded.

“These people could still be alive, and all any of you are trying to do is-”

“Wait, hold on.” Andy interrupted him. “Someone’s out here.” Joe’s head nearly spun around to see where Andy was looking, as they saw a heavily pregnant women struggle her way out of a heavy door. She was balancing a thick stack of paperwork on one hand and trying to maneuver the door with the other. As they stood and watched, she lost balance, dropping all the paperwork and swearing loudly. The four of them walked quickly over to her, Joe catching a paper with abnormally fast reflexes as it started floating away.

“Thanks,” the woman sounded relieved, stuffing all of her papers back into a disorderly pile. She looked nervously up at the four of them, trying to sidle backwards. Joe took a step back as well, trying to give her space. “I can’t believe how late I just had to work, and my boss knows how far along I am, it’s absolutely-” she stopped herself, standing up straighter and brushing hair out of her eyes with her free hand. “Well thank you, anyway.” She finished.

“Not a problem,” Pete spoke up immediately, flashing a charming grin at her, and watching as some of her disease melted away. “You want one of us to give you a hand carrying all that back to your car? You did drive, right?”

“Yes, um, yes I did drive, but no, I really don’t  need a hand.” she said, She gave them a small smile, said “Thanks again” and began walking down the street, her gait turning into a bit of a pregnancy waddle.

“As I was saying,” Patrick continued when the woman was out of sight, “I just don’t think that wandering around the city in the middle of the night is going to do anything but get us mugged or freak people like her out.” he pointed over to where the woman had just walked away.

No sooner had he finished his sentence than an ear piercing scream was heard from the direction the woman had walked off in, and all of them instinctively took off running towards her. Joe was the fastest and first to clear the street corner, and just met the woman’s eye as something huge and sickly yellow-white dragged her down into the street, the unhinged top of a sewer grate lying right next to her.

Joe paused momentarily to scream “What the fuck?!” before he bolted forward to the hole in the street, preparing himself to jump down, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, smelled the vampire above him.

“You can’t go after it.” Andy said, his voice maddenly steady, though his eyes were wide with fear and disbelief.

“Why not?” Joe asked. “I feel like I stand a pretty good chance against the half blind sewer monster.” he felt hysteric laughter rise in his throat, but did not let it emerge.

“Because,” Andy sighed, “Some alligators live in groups. Often. And I guarantee you there’s more than one down there.”

***

“Pete,” Patrick sighed through gritted teeth later that night, “If you say ‘I told you so’ one more time, you’re going to have to learn to play bass without fingers.”

“But I did.” Pete grinned, flopping down on the unfamiliar couch. The friend they were staying with appeared to be very busy with her boyfriend upstairs, and keen for the four of them to just stay quietly in the basement and not bother her, which suited them fine.

“A girl could be dead, now isn’t the time to gloat,” Andy glared over at him, and Pete’s grin faded a bit.

“It doesn’t add up, though.” Pete said. “Why would an alligator drag someone off rather than just… you know…” he trailed off, a disturbed look crossing his face.

“Because alligators usually eat small prey.” Andy sighed, wiping off his glasses. “When they have large prey they drag them into the water to drown them and then bite off chunks of the corpse.” Pete shuddered.

“Cheery.” Joe said dryly. “And in other news, do you know everything?”

“Probably,” Andy replied, equally dryly. “She’s most likely dead.”

“Okay, but you guys are ignoring the main issue.” Patrick spoke up suddenly, “Why are there sewer alligators in Indianapolis in the first place? Why have we only heard of and seen an albino one? Sewer alligators are mostly a myth and they aren’t even an Indianapolis myth. It seems like the use of them is to discredit the story.”

“And we have seen that they certainly do that.” Pete agreed.

“Yeah, and like you said, Andy, they mostly go for smaller prey. Well, there should be plenty of rats in the sewers. Why attack people when alligators are afraid of people?” Patrick continued, encouraged.

“You think they’re working for something else?” Joe asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically. Patrick shrugged.

“It doesn’t make much sense, but none of this does.” he reasoned. They were all silent for a moment, Patrick leaning back against the wall of the basement. It was very late, probably four in the morning, and he had been up for too long to gather his thoughts into anything else logical.

“We have to find out what they’re doing to people.” Pete said fiercely, sitting up straighter. He stared right at Patrick, and a smile spread across his face. “And I have an idea.”

As Pete stared at him, Patrick’s eyes narrowed. He knew that look, and he recognized what he was beginning to refer to as ‘Pete Logic’, where if a lot of women get captured, the monster must be after women, so he, the go to bait, should look like a woman. “Fuck you, I’m not doing that.” Patrick told him, crossing his arms.

“Doing what?” Joe asked.

“It makes sense!” Pete argued. “I mean, think about the statistics-”

“Statistics be damned, we’re still within a few hundred miles of people I’ve met before.” Patrick snorted.

“What is going on?” Andy asked.

“He wants me to dress as a girl to get the alligators’ attention.” Patrick half yelled, throwing his arms up in the air.

“Oh grow up, it’s not just some passing fancy, like ‘haha let’s get my best friend to wear drag’, there’s a reason for this!” Pete yelled back.

“Then you wear a dress!” Patrick yelled.

“If I do it with you, will you do this?” Pete sighed, sounding so long suffering that you would think he was the one who was being forced into this ridiculous situation. Patrick groaned, rolling his eyes, but remaining silent. He thought about it. It was a ridiculous idea, yes, but if he was right, if there really was a chance of helping the kidnapped girl they had met earlier.

“It might not even have a supernatural sense of smell.” Patrick huffed after a long minute of silence.

“You’re right.” Andy said. “It might not. We should all do it and split up to find this.”

“Speak for yourself!” Joe yelled. “How did I get dragged into this?”

“Well, we’re just using guess work at the moment,” Pete said, “So honestly, it might not be able to smell magic blood, but it’s definitely going for women. The more of us there are, the better this could go.”

“Someone mentioned splitting up?” Patrick piped up. “Yeah, that sounds like a terrible idea. What do we do if the alligator does attack one of us? I’m sure you would be fine,” Patrick said to Andy, “But what am I supposed to do, bash it with a trucker cap?”

“We could go in pairs.” Pete suggested.

“In drag?” Joe asked, his voice sounding faint with disbelief. Patrick shared his sentiment, rather unsure about how this situation had even come into question.

“Yes.” Pete said emphatically. “We’ve got a day off tomorrow, it’ll be fun! We can go shopping and have old people look at us all scandalized for corrupting America's youth in the heart of the midwest.”

“I can hardly wait.” Patrick said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “And there’s absolutely no deterring you?”

“None.” Pete replied. Patrick looked around the room for other signs of dissent, but Andy seemed as serene as ever, and Joe looked nothing more than vaguely annoyed. Patrick sighed in reluctant defeat.

By the next day, when they were searching for something to wear, Patrick was less defeated, and more frantic.

“I mean, girls wear pants too.” he argued as the walked into the first store. “I could stuff a blouse, and I’m young enough to be just as convincing.”

“Why deny yourself a chance to show off those gorgeous legs?” Joe purred into his ear, then pulling away from him to cackle to himself. Patrick tried to will himself not to blush, but it probably wasn’t working, from the way Pete snorted as he looked over at him.

The four of them walked into a resale shop, claiming to have all the best styles for very low prices, which Patrick was very much hoping for, because he didn’t want to waste more than ten dollars on a dress that he would hopefully only have to wear once. Yet the more he got to know his band, the less likely it seemed.

It was a weekday, so hardly anyone was in the store at the moment, yet that was no excuse, in Patrick’s opinion, for Pete to be so painfully loud and obvious as he picked along the rack of dresses.

“Anyone know their dress size?” Pete asked. Patrick stared at him in derision, and Andy walked up, scowling when he saw the tag.

“What does the number stand for?” he asked. “Six? Six what?”

“Inches down from the crotch?” Joe suggested, his eyebrows shooting up as he saw the hemline.

“Well this one says thirteen, but it looks like the exact same size.” Pete said, holding up another hanger next to it.

“There’s always the tried and true method of guess and check.” Joe shrugged. “I mean, shit, I don’t think we’re gonna discover the dress to inseam ratio on our own.”

“Guess and check?” Patrick asked, sounding somewhat frantic. “We’re not gonna buy a ton of dresses just to-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s a dressing room right there.” Pete said nonchalantly. A noise something like a squeak came out of Patrick.

“There are people here.” he said.

“Holy shit, really?” Joe asked, and Patrick glared at him. He was about to put forth another argument, mostly disgruntled complaint, when one of the store workers came up to them.

“How can I help you boys today?” she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, you don’t need to help us, we’re just-” Patrick began, but he was interrupted by Joe.

“We lost a bet last week, can you help us find dresses in our sizes?” Joe asked, and Patrick was fairly certain that his face had caught fire from how hot it was.

The girl laughed a little. “Sure,” she paused and chuckled a bit more. “You have no idea what any of your sizes are?” she asked.

“Can you convert from dude sizes to girl sizes?” Pete asked. She laughed again, and oh god, Patrick wished she weren’t laughing so much.

“Why don’t we just go from eyeballing it, I’m pretty good at sizing people up. You won’t get offended by the number I say, right?”

“We won’t know what it means.” Andy told her, and she beamed at him, pulling dresses off the rack, all the while murmuring to herself.

“Hmm, try these,” she said, handing an armful of fabric to Andy. He frowned down at it.

“These are all different numbers.” he said.

“Welcome to girl shopping.” the clerk said to him, then went back to rummaging through the rack. She only pulled two options out for Joe, one for Pete, and then, when the tension could mount no higher, she turned to Patrick and frowned.

“Oh god, what?” he asked. The others had gone back to the dressing room already, and he felt nervous fear bubbling up inside his stomach.

“I’m just trying get your figure.” the clerk said. “I’m guessing you’re the not the kind of guy that does this often.”

“What gave it away?” Patrick asked in a deadpan tone. She was silent for a while, looking him up and down.

“Well, you’ve got a great frame, and the thing is, you have hips just wide enough to work a curve without a skirt designed for it, so just-” she paused, pulling a hanger out “Don’t get angry with me, but you have to try this one.”

The strip of cloth that she was holding out was tiny. And it was thin. And black. Patrick looked up at her and sighed, deeply, and she shrugged at him.

“You’re also really short, you’d trip over any of the long dresses here. Maxis only work for tall girls.” she assured him. Patrick looked up and the ceiling, screwed his eyes shut, and grabbed the dress out of her hands. She gave him a reassuring smile as he walked toward the back, and she followed him.

When they made it back to the partitioned off area of the store, Andy was looking himself up and down in the mirror, wearing something soft and peach colored that went nearly to his knees, and had capped sleeves. Patrick saw what the clerk was talking about in regards to waists, though. The skirt was sewn separately to the top of the dress, with more material so that it would flounce out when its owner walked.

“I like it.” Andy said, in a voice so amiable that you would think he was discussing the weather.

“I thought you would like that one.” the clerk said. “It’s a good color for you, but you may wanna shave before wearing it.” she added. “Pink and orange are a hard to match combination.”

“Of course.” Andy agreed, and smirked just a little when he saw the black menace that Patrick was holding. He ducked into one of the stalls, just as someone else left theirs. Joe began discussing his dress with the clerk as Patrick slipped his on, wincing a bit as it pulled at the stitches on his chest. The scar didn’t hurt much anymore, but the skin still felt tight.

It was small, certainly. Patrick remembered the high school dress code rule of girls skirts having to go past their fingertips, and there was no way that this passed it. If there were a palm rule, he didn’t think that this dress would have passed it. There were two tiny straps that weren’t so much holding the dress up as they were decorating it. And worst of all, there was a gigantic V devoid of fabric in the back of the dress. And yet… even noticing all these things, Patrick couldn’t quite help but notice how right the store girl had been about the way it fit his form. There were certainly good things about the dress as well. It wasn’t covered in sequins or rhinestones or anything gaudy like that. If the back was low, the neckline was high, straight across just above his collarbone. The front sagged a bit from where there were definitely no boobs to fill the space, but other than that.

Patrick knew without a doubt that it would be impossible to run in this, but he stepped out of the dressing room to get the clerk’s opinion anyway. To his surprise, Pete had just stepped out as well.

“Whoa.” Pete said, wearing his normal clothes again as he stared at Patrick, somewhat bug eyed. He was silent for a moment, gone temporarily speechless.

“What?” Patrick snapped, tugging the dress down lower on his thighs, his face flushing as Pete let his gaze linger.

“That is your dress.” Pete said, regaining speech again and straightening up.

“No, no way.” Patrick said, holding his hands up, bright red to have been seen by anyone but the girl that had picked the dress out. “I mean, I can hardly walk without this thing riding up, and-”

“That is absolutely your dress, Chloe-” oh, so that was the girl’s name “-tell him that is his dress.”

“It does look lovely on you.” she agreed.

“I don’t think it’s very practical for the terms of our bet.” Patrick said through gritted teeth. Pete didn’t seem to catch the gist, he just kept staring, looking Patrick up and down with a gaze that seemed somehow invasive to him. He crossed his arms over his chest, through there was nothing to cover there, and in fact, it made the dress ride up more, and he had to reposition himself to pull the skirt back down.

“Woah, dude,” Joe nodded in appreciation as he walked out too, and Patrick felt his mortification increase exponentially.

“I am not going to wear this when we go out!” he squawked. His momentary forgiveness of the black menace in the dressing room had faded with the ordeal of other people looking at him in it.

“Time to embarrass Patrick already?” Andy asked as he walked out, dressed in jeans again as well. He nodded appreciatively at the slinky dress. “Very good look for you.”

“Andy,” Patrick growled, but Chloe clapped her hands together.

“The vote is unanimous!” she cheered. “If you want to change, I can ring it up for you.”

“I’m not buying this dress.” Patrick said, surprising himself with how firm his voice was.

“Then I’ll buy it for you,” Pete said. “Jeez, will you wear it if it’s free?” Patrick was torn. He probably should tell him no. But then again…

“Fine.” he conceded in defeat, and slammed the door to the dressing room as he changed back into regular clothes and threw the dress over the top of the door for someone outside to catch. As soon as he was back in jeans and a normal shirt, he felt infinitely better.

They four of them still had to go through the nightmarish ordeal of buying bras (“Push up bras! God, do you know how much tissues chafe?” “No, Pete, do you?”) and, to Patrick’s further distaste, heels.

“Joe, you need flats.” Pete ordered.

“And I’m forced into heels?” Patrick muttered, not even putting up a fight anymore. Pete sighed dramatically.

“What self respecting five foot four girl doesn’t wear heels when she goes out?” Pete asked.

“My girlfriend?” Patrick suggested.

“Whatever, you can’t wear flats with that kind of dress.” Pete told him, and Joe collapsed down on the floor with suppressed laughter. Patrick felt almost beyond embarrassment by then, at least amongst these guys. How much worse could it get, he reasoned? He put his foot down on anything taller than an inch, finally conceding into something Pete referred to as “kitten heels”, which were short and somewhat thicker than the others he had seen. He walked over to a rack of cheap tights, but Pete put a hand across his chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, as though Patrick were doing something really idiotic.

“Getting tights?” Patrick said, after a pause. Pete sighed, shaking his head.

“That’s just not the kind of dress you wear tights with.” he said, as though it should be obvious.

“If you want to convince me, I would recommend you stop talking about that dress as though it were a piece of lingerie or something.” Patrick snapped.

“I’ve seen lingerie that covers more skin.” Joe said, and Patrick groaned.

“Is it too late to quit the band?” Patrick asked.

“I ask myself that every day.” Joe said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the back.

As they finished up at that store, Pete checked out last, and Patrick saw him slip something else in with his purchase, but he couldn’t quite tell what it was. They went back to the house they were staying at, and the girl who owned the place was apparently still very preoccupied with her boyfriend. When Andy asked if she would notice or mind the four dudes leaving her house in drag, Pete waved his hand airily and said “They’re long distance.” as means of explanation.

There wasn’t much to do aside from watch old Beavis and Butthead reruns until it got dark out, but as they did, Patrick couldn’t help but feel nervousness pooling in his stomach, Despite the amount of monsters they had attracted in the past few months and defeated, he felt like actively being the bait for some, in a very vulnerable outfit as well, was just pushing his luck. He didn’t really want to die by getting eaten. It sounded awful, and was a great reason to be vegetarian.

When the sun began setting, Pete lifted his head like an animal sniffing blood on the air, and grinned at them.

“It’s time.” he said, and they all spread out to different sides of the room to change, Patrick hiding in a closet to change. He came out, not blushing anymore, mostly just resigned. Joe snorted.

“I don’t think you should be worried about alligators tonight, so long as there are men in this city; they’ll be too loud for any animal to want to attack.” he told Patrick.

“Thanks for your support.” Patrick groaned.

“You can’t wear that.” Pete announced, staring at Patrick again.

“Oh.” Patrick’s eyes widened, then narrowed in confusion. “You aren’t talking about the dress, are you?”

“It’s too short, your boxers are showing.” Pete told him.

“And just dressing as a girl in jeans would only be too simple of a solution.” Patrick felt resigned to whatever Pete had in mind, and he easily caught the slim, plastic wrapped package that was thrown at him. Girls underwear, which wouldn’t have been nearly as horrible if it hadn’t been bright red.

“You want me to get eaten by an alligator, don’t you?” Patrick asked, Joe howling with laughter in the background, and Andy not even bothering to hold back snickers.

“It’s bulls that are attracted to red, not reptiles.” Pete said. “You should get changed.”

“Your music career is going to go nowhere if I get killed tonight.” Patrick said, but he stepped back into the closet with as much dignity as he could, face flushed as he heard the uproarious laughter of the three boys behind him. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but mostly Patrick decided he was going to try not to think about it.

All of them struggled hopelessly at makeup, until it was discovered that Joe could put a very fine line of eyeliner on everyone but himself, and most of the precision work was trusted to him. After they made feeble efforts to make all of their hair look more feminine, Patrick decided that they could probably pass for female in the dark, which it was. Joe looked so defiantly masculine that he almost convinced the others that he should change back into normal clothing, but Pete told him it would be all the same this late at night, and they were out the door before Patrick knew it.

“I think I should have worn tights.” Patrick repeated once they were in the van.

“You’d look like one of those awkward prude sluts straight out of Catholic school.” Joe told him.

“It’s cold out.” Patrick snapped. “What if I get hypothermia again?” he asked, and Joe rolled his eyes.

“Yes, being outside on a September night is completely comparable experience to almost drowning in one of the Great Lakes in winter.” Andy said, peering down at his nails critically. “You know, we all have really short nails, which I guess is a musician thing, but they’re kind of stubby looking to be girl nails.”

“Not the sort of problem that I think alligators usually recognize.” Joe said. “I mean, this is going under the incredibly vague and dubious assumption that they’re picking women based on their choice of outfits rather than some specific womanly scent or something.”

“I mean, the dresses are second-hand.” Pete reasoned. “It might work for sense of smell too.”

“Hey, I didn’t think of that.” Joe said. “Nice plan.”

“He just came up with it now.” Patrick said brusquely.

“Not wrong though, am I?” Pete grinned lazily. Patrick rolled his eyes and tried to pull his dress down, but even seated it would not go past mid thigh. He groaned out loud, and slammed his head into the window.

Once downtown, Joe found a garage where it was free to park after eleven, and they began to walk as an awkward, poorly balanced group, trying not to trip over the excess fabric or high heels. Andy was actually extremely well balanced in his shoes, and when Patrick annoyedly asked him how he was so good at it, he just winked cryptically at him.

Eventually, Pete paused, looking around. They had walked to a relatively quiet street, and there was no one there except for a lecherous looking man a few blocks down. The city buzzed only a few blocks away, but here there was one quiet bar where they could hear a polite chatter coming from, and little else.

“You should go a little ways ahead.” Pete said to Patrick. Patrick whipped around, and his hair, styled to something careful and soft that almost resembled a bob in the dim light, hit him in the face.

“We’re pairing off, like we planned earlier.” Patrick growled, his voice harsh and decisive. “And I’m going with Joe.”

Pete drew back, looking surprised, but not quite hurt.

“Alright.” he said, seeming to size Patrick up. With Pete’s gaze as a reminder, Patrick yanked his dress down in the front where it was starting to get dangerously close to his pelvis. Pete turned back to Andy before he continued talking. “I can go ahead in our group, I imagine I smell more human.”

“Not in the slightest.” Andy said. “I actually am half human, you just stand back and look pretty.” Pete snorted a bit, and the two of them walked a block over.

“I feel so honored that you chose me as your guard.” Joe teased, and Patrick rolled his eyes.

“I chose the only other close to sane person here.” Patrick grumbled. Joe gave him a sympathetic smile, and adjusted himself under the dress.

“My thighs feel like they’re fucking on fire, is that a normal girl thing?” Joe asked.

“Probably. I’m gonna be so grateful to be in pants again.” Patrick sighed. Joe nodded, then pushed him forward a bit. Patrick stumbled, losing his balance and nearly falling to the ground, instead grabbing Joe’s shoulder and swaying drunkenly. Joe laughed loudly, and Patrick glared at him. Joe jerked his head forward, and Patrick began walking ahead, trying to look ladylike and dignified, but still stumbling and twisting his ankle, swearing under his breath. He was starting to think of turning so he didn’t run into the man, when a voice from the quiet bar called out.

“Patrick? Oh my god, Patrick, is that you?” Patrick froze in his tracks, a dead giveaway, but his fear held him to the ground. He swallowed thickly, trying to will his feet to step forward, but they wouldn’t move. His brain must be sending the wrong sort of distress signals, and all he could do was stand there, with wide and horrified eyes.

“Hey, Patrick!” The bubbly voice was now right next to him, and a soft hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him around. Patrick stared at the girl for a long time, vaguely recognizing her from high school, but unable to distinguish her from any of the many girls he sort of knew back then. She had gotten pregnant, it seemed, and the pregnancy glow suited her, putting an ever present flush on her cheeks. The silence dragged out for a long, horrible moment, till her smile started to fall. Patrick grimaced in an attempt to return her smile.

“Hey!” he said in a forced cheery voice that sounded absolutely awful. “Hi! Wow! What are the odds of seeing you here?”

“I know, it’s totally crazy!” she said, her smile slowly returning. She hadn’t yet commented on the dress, but she seemed very eager to talk to him. “You stayed in Chicago, yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah, my band and all.” Patrick agreed, his mouth curling in distaste over the word ‘band’.

“Yeah, right, how are you guys doing?” she asked, then covered her mouth, “I just mean- not guys, I just meant-”

“Oh my god!” Patrick’s eyes widened. “Stop, stop, no, you don’t-” he held his hands up as though he could physically stop the words from coming out of her mouth. “No, I’m not- I don’t-”

“I’m sorry!” she gasped, holding her hands up as well, “I just assumed-”

“I lost a bet!” Patrick insisted. “To my stupid fucking band.” he hissed.

“Sorry,” she repeated, then chuckled a little. “I mean, you look good.” she tugged a little on one of his spaghetti straps, and he winced, smoothing the dress down. “And red and black are a good color combination on you.”

“OH MY GOD!” Patrick yelled, yanking the dress halfway down his thighs and holding it in place there with his hands. She actually did laugh at that, but she stifled her laughter quickly.

“Sorry, sorry.” she giggled a bit. “I couldn’t resist. We should catch up, though.” she added sincerely, and Patrick made a strangled sort of squeak in the back of his throat.

“Now?” he asked. She gave him a sympathetic look.

“Now.” she said. “Aside from wanting to provide your friends with plenty of entertainment, you see that guy there?” she pointed to the lecherous looking man at the end of the street. “He keeps staring at you, and I think sticking in a group might be best for you.” she suggested gently. “Don’t you know better than to wear something like that on a quiet street at this time of night?” she asked him, as they began to slowly walk in the other direction, taking small steps so Patrick didn’t fall.

“Is it just innate female knowledge?” Patrick grumbled, still holding his dress down with both hands.

“I’d say so.” the girl agreed solemnly. “So, you totally don’t remember my name, do you?” she asked him, and he gave her a sheepish half smile as he shook his head. “Well, it’s Riley. I was on the squad, sometimes we shared the field with marching band for practice?” A vague memory of her came to Patrick’s mind.

“Ah, yeah.” he said, only half sure he remembered her. She brushed her hair behind her ear with a smile.

“You didn’t talk to a lot of people in high school, did you?” she asked.

“Sorry.” he apologized. “But you’ve been doing well, yeah? How far along are you?” he asked, addressing her ballooning stomach. As soon as he spoke, her face grew dark with anger, and she stopped in her tracks.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry-” Patrick began, but she burst out into laughter.

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist.” she laughed. “I’m six months in, but you should have seen the look on your face.” Patrick, if it was possible, blushed harder, trying to pick up his speed, but unable to walk any faster in the tiny shoes balancing precariously on one point in the back. Heels were quite possibly the worst invention to ever come into fashion.

“I shouldn’t tease you.” she apologized a moment later. “I am sorry. You’re very sweet.” she rounded the corner with him, then frowned. The two of them stood at the corner of the street, right next to a gigantic sewer grate that steam was billowing out of.

“That’s kind of weird.” Patrick said, pointing to the steam.

“No, that always happens in this city, but there is an awful lot of smoke.” Riley agreed, and took a step forward towards it. Patrick felt his heart lurch horribly in fear of something he couldn’t place, and he stepped forward after her. She stepped across the grate, and as Patrick moved after her, he stumbled a bit, so she moved out of his way, to the street on the other side. He managed to right himself fairly quickly, but once he was standing up straight again over the grate, he felt a rumbling come from beneath it. He tried to join her on the street again, but found that one of the stupid, cursed heels was caught in the grate itself. The sound of the rumbling grew louder.

“Riley, get out of here.” he snapped at her, suddenly tense. A clang came from the metal beneath his feet, and all of it shook, sending Patrick flat on his back, but with the shoe still stuck in the grate. Everything after that seemed to happen very quickly. Riley knelt down next to him to help him up, he wrenched his right foot out of the shoe that was still pinned into the interlocking metal, and the rest of his band ran out from a side street.

“Move, you have to-!” Andy yelled, but was cut off as there was another clang and the grate flew out of the street, landing some ten feet away, and a ghostly, yellow white alligator crawled out onto the street.

****

Pete could only imagine what the girl with Patrick was thinking, but he was sure it was amusing. Her aura was a multicolored shimmer of distress and undertones of amusement as she crawled backwards into the gutter, away from the alligator. Pete barely had time to lay his hands on her shoulders and give her a reassuring grin before he turned back around to the fight behind him.

Andy was holding the alligator’s jaws firmly shut while its tail whipped back and forth, managing to catch Joe in the stomach once before Joe braced his arms around its stomach, holding it still. Patrick stepped back and cast a nervous, questioning look at Andy.

“Do you have a plan from here?” Andy snapped at Pete, his voice tense under the exertion he was putting into holding the creature in place. Pete shrugged.

“I mean, I didn’t think we would get this far, to be perfectly honest.” he said lazily. “If we let it grab one of us we could follow it back to its lair?”

“ALLIGATORS DROWN THEIR VICTIMS!” Andy yelled at him.

“Is this your band?” Riley asked Patrick. “I thought you lost the bet.”

“Lady, this really isn’t the time.” Joe told her, and she cocked her head to the side.

“Joe?” she asked, and his eyes widened under the eyeshadow. “Joe Trohman? From New Trier, yeah, one grade under me?”

“Oh fuck me sideways, I don’t know you.” Joe said, looking horrified. Patrick snorted, and Andy growled, seething with anger.

“I will let go!” he threatened, and Pete put his hands out in a motion of calming Andy down, which seemed only to agitate him more.

“Let’s just follow the damn thing, it won’t go after one of us now.” Joe insisted. Andy glared at him, and, to Pete’s horror, let go.

The alligator whipped around to snap at Joe, but he released his end as well, and it splashed and fell into the sewer water below.

“It was nice seeing you!” Patrick yelled to Riley, before throwing himself down into the opening. Andy must have already been in, because the street was nearly empty when Joe jumped in afterwards. There was a long, horrible silence, while Riley stared at Pete with her mouth agape.

“Hey, I’m Pete, Pete Wentz,” he introduced himself, sticking his manicured hand out to her. She took it with a little laugh.

“Come see our band tomorrow.” he added. “Fall Out Boy. We’re gonna be big.” and as she nodded, dumbfounded, he jumped into the darkness.

Sewers in movies were much nicer than what Pete found himself in. It was pitch black inside, with only a sliver of electric light from outside covering his face. The tunnel he was in was deep, but narrow, and the smell wasn’t pungent, with cartoon green odor lines running off it, rather it had the scent of damp and rotting leaves, which wasn’t the worst thing Pete could imagine. His eyesight was next to useless at first, but he could hear the distant splashing coming from directly ahead of him, so he took off running in that direction. The water was fairly shallow, but the dress made it splatter his calves rather than jeans with murky mud.

There was a soft glow of light in the sewers, tiny hazard lights protected by thick, oddly new looking bars that illuminated the tunnels, in contrast, a dingy, rusty brown. The iron cages holding the bulbs aloft looked almost jagged despite their sparklingly new gray, and Pete went out of his way to keep from touching them. He could practically sense the metal that would burn his skin apart if it cut him.

Pete had assumed it wouldn’t take long to catch up to his friends, but this assumption proved to be incorrect, as all he did for five minutes, then ten, was follow the sound of water sloshing ahead of him. They weren’t even speaking to one another, which almost made Pete wonder if what he heard ahead wasn’t his band, but only the alligator. Still, this seemed unlikely. So he continued splashing along after them, pausing occasionally to make sure he still heard movement coming from in front of him rather than just echoes of his own.

Pete was about to just shift into power walking if things went on for much longer, but he ran headlong into someone’s back, someone who cursed as he tried to steady the two of them as Joe shushed them. Andy was the only one unaffected, staring intently ahead. They were at the mouth of the tunnel, where it opened into a sort of crossroads. Crosstunnels? Pete decided to look it up when they left. About fifty feet directly in front of them was another circular opening to a continuation of this tunnel, and in between that was a long, seemingly endless rectangular stretch of concrete room. The alligator they had been following lumbered ahead up to a large group of identical creatures, all crowded around something that a thick ripping sound was coming from. Food. Tied with thick ropes against the opposite wall were four girls, two of them looking heavily pregnant, and the other two with very small bumps protruding from their stomachs. They all appeared to be relatively undamaged, but they looked filthy and sallow skinned. The woman from the previous night was among them, her head lolling backwards in what Pete hoped was sleep. There was no sound in the area but the soft ripping of flesh as the alligators attacked the damp red mass that they encircled.

“What-?” Pete began, but Andy clamped a hand over his mouth instantly, too hard, his fingers digging into Pete’s skin and bruising his flesh. Pete tried to make a protesting noise in the back of his throat, but Andy dug the tips of his fingers into Pete’s cheek until he went silent. One of the girls made a whimpering noise, and Pete wondered whether or not they could be seen, but it looked as though the others had stopped just inside the cover of shadows. He wanted to know why they were just standing there, why they weren’t releasing the girls, but Joe and Andy were still in the front, and there was a warning hand pressing Patrick back as well. They must have heard something. Sure enough, Pete eventually heard the sound of light laughter echoing down the walls and up to them. He heard no footsteps, but eventually three figures walked to the edge of the shadows, near the prisoners and animals, where a dim light was swaying overhead.

“No new ones tonight, Dimka.” a woman sighed. “I wish we had some real equipment, even she isn’t due for a month.” she jabbed her finger at the woman they had met the night before.

“Now, never fear.” a smooth, male, accented voice replied. It sounded Eastern European definitely, maybe Russian, but Pete couldn’t quite place it. “We have waited twenty one years, what hardship a few more weeks?” he paused. “And perhaps this is good news. Too many disappearances and people will start to talk.”

“People are already talking.” a third, harsher voice snapped at them. The woman had an accent heavier than the man’s, and it sounded even harder from her biting tone. “These theatricalities grow wearisome. Alligator minions, pah!” she spat on the floor. “It is all dramatic entrances and reverse psychology with the younger generation.”

“They are good allies.” the first woman retorted, “they take care of our dirty work.”

“In my day, we did not think ourselves so above the mundane work.” the other woman hissed. “We thought it increased morale, to see the true fruits of your labor.”

“They are no less the fruits of our labor just because we aren’t being destroyed by the sun due to human interference!” the first woman raised her voice with the taut, irritated voice of someone who had had this argument a thousand times.

“We forget what it means to toil, we become detached, distant emperors of a kingdom we know nothing of!”

“We survive!”

“But we do not live!”

“The end shall justify the means, you old fashioned hag!”

Silence rang out in the sewer for a moment, before the voice returned, quieter than before.

“I regret hafing sired you.” the woman said. After a pause, the man spoke again.

“Who shall feed the humans tonight?” the man asked.

“You care for it, Dimka, I find myself weary.” the first girl spoke, and he sighed, walking into the light. Pete’s eyes widened as he looked at him, because for as much as he knew about mythology, he had never seen a real vampire up close before. The man, Dimka, towered at nearly seven feet, and he couldn’t have fit the bill for a stereotypical vampire much better if he had tried. A widow’s peak at the front of his dark brown, slicked back hair, a very slender build, and skin that wasn’t the attractive pale of an Anne Rice character, but was the color of white ashes. It seemed to Pete that the vampire should be wearing a Victorian frock, maybe a cape, but even if he had, it probably wouldn’t scream “VAMPIRE” any more than he already did.

“Thirsty?” Dimka asked the women tied to the wall, smirking ever so slightly. Three of the women nodded eagerly, leaning forward, but the one that they had seen kidnapped the day before pulled back in a cringe, screwing her eyes shut. The vampire laughed, pulling back the sleeve on his leather jacket and offering his wrist up to the first girl in the line. To Pete’s utter horror, her mouth opened to reveal two comically large fangs, which she promptly dug into his wrist.

Pete turned to Andy, nudging him as hard as he dared, because surely they had to do something. Joe was staring expectantly at him as well, but Andy just gazed ahead, transfixed by the scene as the woman slurped greedily and messily at the vampire’s wrist, spilling blood on the concrete beneath her. When the blood spilled, it was darker than human blood, a deep shade of maroon rather than the crimson of human blood. She moaned loudly when he pulled his arm back, her wails echoing all around. She licked her lips and whimpered, sticking her head forward and giving the vampire a pleading look.

“No more, my darling.” he said, stroking her hair with his undamaged hand. “We need you to feed the baby as well.”

The woman let out another wail of frustration, but Dimka moved to the next woman in line, offering up his wrist to her as well. Much the same happened with her and the third woman, but the last in line turned her nose up.

“That- that is disgusting.” she whispered. “I won’t drink that, I won’t.” Dimka frowned at her.

“But dearest, you need your strength.” he pleaded. “The child is so far along, we don’t want it to be born malnourished.”

“I don’t want it to be a monster like you!” she cried, and a few tears streamed down her face. While she sobbed, her eyes fluttered shut, and the vampire held his wrist up to her mouth, pulled her head back and stroked up and down her neck with his free hand. She swallowed, mostly out of shock, then snapped her head backwards, letting the blood drip down her chin.

“Thank you.” Dimka said, awarding her a thin smile.

“We have to help,” Pete breathed in a whisper, barely audible in the dark. Joe nodded, and Patrick looked up at him, but Andy was still focused on the scene ahead, his eyes wide with a horror and revulsion that Pete had never seen on him before.

“I don’t want my son to be a monster!” the woman sobbed, her head hanging and her hair falling in a limp curtain around her face.

“Come now, darling,” his smile began to fade, “Just a bit more-!”

As she pulled her head back as far as she could from his wrist, Andy broke free of the others and strode directly forward. Dimka balked at the sight of him.

“Andrea?” His voice was so filled with surprise and recognition that Pete wondered if Andy knew the man, but immediately put down the thought as Andy struck Dimka across the face. He pinned the man’s head down to the ground, holding his hand firm on his neck. It struck Pete momentarily that Andy was terrifying in action, holding back an ancient vampire with his bare hands. There was hardly time to marvel at this, however, as female shrieks from the darkness rang out, and the two other vampires rushed forward. Pete took that as his cue to join in on the other side. Andy was stronger than a human, but nothing compared to three vampires.

Once pinned up against the wall, with snarling filling his ears and the scent of blood nearly overwhelming him, it became fairly obvious that Pete wasn’t exactly strong enough to fight off vampires. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Patrick holding the pregnant woman’s hand right before the woman that had already grabbed Pete reached out and snatched him away as well. The pregnant woman from the night before stared at Patrick with wide eyes, and Pete thought he saw a glint in her hand, but the woman holding him slammed his back into the wall again, and Pete lost his train of thought.

He hadn’t been defeated alone, however. The same ancient woman that held him fast also had her other hand holding Patrick up next to him, and the younger of the vampires had Joe held down on the floor, while Andy and the male vampire were still standing off, fangs bared menacingly.

“Half breed,” Dimka purred. “You are a rare bird, aren’t you?” the two of them were circling each other, carefully keeping their eyes on each other. “But do you know quite how rare?”

“I’m the first of my kind,” Andy growled, his fists clenched, white knuckled.

“First, perhaps.” the man agreed, moving up onto the balls of his feet in preparation to spring. “Not the last, however.”

“Let them go.” Andy demanded, seemingly uninterested in the banter that was drawing Pete in, because the idea of multiple vampires that were impervious to typical vampire weapons was something he thought was a fairly pressing issue.

“You’re in no position to make demands. What sort of company do you keep?” Dimka asked conversationally, as though they weren’t both in a battle ready stance.

“My band.” Andy said shortly.

“A dog, a demon, and a snack?” the vampire snorted. “Not the most dignified company to keep, but I’m sure you put on an amusing show.” From the ground, Joe growled, dragging his claws across the younger female’s chest, and shoving her off. Taking it as a sign for him to move, Pete caught the eyes of the vampire holding him and Patrick, widening his eyes. He didn’t have a prayer of using any sort of compulsion on a vampire that old, but whenever he did so, his irises flashed, and he hoped it might be distracting. A longshot, but it just worked, and as she blinked in response, Pete and Patrick just wriggled out of the woman’s grasp. The three of them ran over next to Andy, taking up what looked vaguely to Pete like a fighting stance. It had been some time since he’d seen Fight Club, but he spread his feet apart, held his fists up, and tried to give off a menacing expression.

“And you’ve trained them to be loyal.” Dimka smiled patronizingly. “Yet I doubt they would do much good if you were to get into a fight.”

“You would be surprised.” Andy said dryly, impressing Pete with the lack of emotion betrayed in his words.

“Really? Well, by all means, you may try to fight if you wish.” Dimka said. “But we will be attacking momentarily, and I’d like to offer you a chance to run away.”

“How cordial.” Andy said, his voice trembling just slightly for the first time.

The old female vampire spoke up, her voice deep and devoid of emotion. “Kill the fae and the dog, bring back the human and ours.”

Andy didn’t even say run, Pete just felt a hand on his back shoving him down the left of the tunnel, past the crocodiles and prisoners rather than where they had come from. He didn’t really need an order, anyway. Running felt like the natural response to a death threat. And they took off without further direction, sprinting away from the horrific scene of cackling vampires and screaming girls. None of them spoke until the dim lights of the makeshift vampire camp were far behind them, and Pete could only see from the sporadic caged lights on the wall, glowing a construction safety orange, and presumably only there for sanitation workers.

“I don’t hear them behind us!” Joe said as they ran down further.

“They’re on the surface,” Andy replied grimly. “They’ll head us off when we get up.”

“Then what’s the plan?” Patrick yelled. Pete smirked in spite of himself when he turned to look at Patrick. The slinky dress had rode up with they were running, and it was entirely bunched around his hips, not that Patrick seemed to notice anymore, It would be cold when they got to the surface, Pete thought, staring thoughtfully at his thighs. He bit his lip and turned pointedly away from Patrick.

“Well, you can still hear something behind us, right?” Andy asked.

“Rats?” Joe asked, sounding more hopeful than believing.

“Alligators, maybe.” Andy said. Joe groaned. “So we have to keep going, unless you want to try and deal with that.”

“How do you kill a vampire?” Patrick asked,

“You,” Andy emphasized the word ‘you’ as he spoke, “don’t. They’re fast and strong and deadly and you smell fantastic.”

“Hypothetically.” Patrick’s tone was acidic.

“Fire, Holy Water, stake to the heart, beheading, how the hell should I know?” Andy snapped. They stopped running, and Pete rested on his arm pressed against the wall to catch his breath. “I’m pretty sure everything dies if you burn it to ashes or cut its head off, but as I’m not a vampire, I can’t attest to anything else.”

“Stake to the heart.” Pete panted, his breathing labored from all the running. “If- fuck - if the stake is wooden, a stake to the heart should do it. Course, you have to find the heart, and plunge all the way through it-”

“Which is nearly impossible.” Andy said. “They aren’t exactly easy targets.”

“Weren’t we running from mystical vampire-y sewer alligators?” Joe asked in a weary voice.

“We might have lost them.” said Andy. “I can’t hear anything.”

“Neither can I.” Joe agreed. “We need a plan.”

“They said they didn’t want to kill Andy or I, right?” Patrick said. “So why don’t we go up to meet them, while you two go back the way we came and get… help…” he trailed off as everyone scowled at him, Pete making a particularly loathsome expression.

“They aren’t planning on keeping you around for your musical prowess,” Andy spoke scornfully, “You heard the man, you’re a meal to them. And what help do you think they could get anyway, the police?”

“Someone has to deal with this!” Patrick’s volume raised infinitesimally. “Or what, is the whole world secretly made of puppets with the glorious undead pulling the strings?”

“Humans might be in control now, but they wouldn’t stand a chance in enough time to get you out.” Pete said with a hard finality. “Next idea?”

“The three of us run the way we came and you see how much information you can get out of them.” Joe suggested to Andy.

“Fuck off.” Pete growled at him.

“We come out as close as we can to a really brightly lit, well populated human place, and break for it.” Andy looked weary. “A hotel, maybe?”

“You think you can tell a hotel from underground?” Joe asked him dubiously. Andy nodded tersely, and Joe nodded in response. Patrick barked out a short laugh, and they turned to him.

“That’ll be interesting.” he said. He had tugged down his skirt, barely, but as he gestured to all of them, Pete couldn’t hold back a snort at the sight of the now ragged, water damaged dresses.

“We’ll remind the night clerk that he’s alive.” Joe smirked a little.

***

As Andy walked through the sewer, he became acutely aware that he was shaking. Almost imperceptible, but he could tell on himself. He hoped no one else could.

But watching those fiends had ripped him apart inside. His mother never really talked about the experience, but it must have been similar. Tied up, waiting to become a monster, to hope you wouldn’t give birth to one. He didn’t know much, but she hadn’t exactly signed up for the experiment. Had she been screaming like them? The thought was horrifying, and he tried to focus on the sounds of the street above. If he could just find a hotel to come out near, a bar, a college dorm, something. Once they got around people, they could hide out until the sun came out. Hopefully. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was better than going with the vampires. As much as he would love to find out more from them. More about him being the first but not the last. And somehow, once the sun came up, he would have to get back down, get the women out of there. Prevent it from happening to anyone else.

“Should we have a contingency plan?” Patrick asked, shattering the heavy silence. “You know, in case it doesn’t work.”

“Don’t get bit.” Andy said, brief and sharp.

“Funny enough, I figured that out on my own.” Patrick muttered. Andy paused underneath an opening to the sewer, and seeing a pale, man made blue light seeping through the cracks in the cover. A few voices dripped down, laughing with a warmth that sounded like they were intoxicated.

“This is the place.” Andy said.

“What place is this place?” Pete asked, staring up at the sewer cover.

“There’s something up there.” Andy decided. “A hotel, or a conference center or something. Lots of light and people.”

“Sounds good.” Patrick said.

“Alright, so, I’ll get the cover off.” Andy said. “Unfortunately, we have to go one at a time, starting with you.” he turned to Patrick. “Break for the entrance and don’t let them make you leave.”

“Yet again, I could have figured that out myself.” Patrick pushed his hair back nervously anyway. “Can they follow us inside? Do they need an invitation?” Andy gave him a withering look. “You know, you’re trying to make me feel stupid, but I bet it’s because there’s something about hotels being a public space, and you just wanna be an asshole about-”

“We don’t have time for this!” Andy’s voice was sharp. He pushed the cover off, and lifted an indignantly squawking Patrick up onto street level. “Pete, you’re next.” he said, and as soon as he had pushed Pete up onto the road, Joe pulled himself out.

As Andy climbed up onto the street, he began blinking rapidly at just how bright it was aboveground. A bluish light poured out of the long row of glass doors just ahead of him, however, and Andy ran blindly towards it. The light pulsed as one of the doors opened, and faint strains of music got released from within. His eyes were still adjusting as he sprinted towards the light, and in his hurry, he tripped over and sprawled out over a small set of stairs leading up to the hotel.

Andy swore, pushing himself off the ground just as he heard a low growl behind him. He turned sharply, to see the three vampires leering at him with gleaming eyes and domineering stances. The older woman stood in the center of their V like formation, her face smooth and exuberant.

“We vould like you to come with us.” she said, fangs just peaking out over her thin lips. “We believe you haf something we need.”

“Such as?” Andy asked, his mouth dry. The vampire woman smiled wider at him.

“Your history.” she said. “We haf valuable information for one another, don’t you think?” Andy’s mind raced as he listened to her. Her accent seemed, if anything, stronger, when she was talking to him, as though it were a method of intimidation. And she wasn’t wrong. But the other guys were bound to do something stupid if he tried to take them alone. He tried to think through his options, to come up with a solution.

“Do you not wish to meet your sister?” she asked, and Andy’s brow furrowed. “Your blood family is far more extended than you might think, little dhampir.”

“And do they all support the mindless torture?” Andy retorted.

“Not mindless, not at all.” the woman waved her hand with nonchalance. “Just the opposite. Haf you not guessed?”

“I had.” Andy said. And he lashed out at her, trying to jab her in her stomach with a punch, then running up the steps as quickly as he could. He heard a yell behind him, but he was fast. He made it halfway up the stairs before he felt one of them just at his back, he knew it was over, and then the creature just behind him let out a screech, giving him enough time to push himself in through the door, held open for him.

The inside of the lobby was all extremely well lit, soft Muzak still playing at whatever god-forsaken hour it was. It was distinctly warmer inside than out, not that the temperature bothered Andy much. There were plants and fountains everywhere, and a second tier of lobby, so the whole building looked purposefully layered. The room gave off the feeling of being in a tube as well, as the ceiling seemed to stretch all the way up past the dozens of floors. And everything, including the row of fast elevators, was made of glass. The place had clearly been designed for pricey business trips, bars smattered around the cavernous lobby where a few men in three piece suits were still nursing drinks. And all this seemed relevant to Andy, whose heartbeat was thrumming still, because it was so infuriatingly calm inside.

The four of them stood in the lobby for a moment, heaving, Patrick leaned one sweaty hand on the glass door and pulled his dress down around his thighs again. The four of them stared at each other, and Pete let out a weak laugh as they did. There was then, a small moment of calm. Andy let out one long, low breath. Joe ran a hand through his hair, and as their heart rates slowed down, the door flew open, and Dimka walked in.

“Go!” Andy yelled, breaking the sterile, upper class calm, waving the others in the direction of one of the elevators. One of the men sitting at a bar fell off of his barstool staring at them, but the four of them sprinted over to the glass doors, Andy reaching them first and slamming his hand into the up button as many times as he could. Dimka walked over to them, a lazy smile on his face while Andy kept pushing the button over and over again.

The vampire was only ten feet from them when they heard the quiet ding, and they all piled in, Joe holding his whole body against the ‘close door’ button, and suddenly the elevator was zooming up, the lobby shrinking beneath them.

“We just left a vampire behind in the lobby.” Patrick panted. “What if he-?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Pete heaved. “Not now. We need a place to hide, it’s us they’re after.”

“Who are they?” Joe asked, his eyes burning accusatory holes in Andy’s skin. Andy  turned, his eyes flashing.

“I don’t know who they are.” he hissed. “But they’re trying to make more of me. Isn’t that something you’re against?” Joe reeled back, looking ready to start something, when Patrick said “We’ve stopped.”

Sure enough, the elevator had paused on a floor, five from the top, and it opened to no one standing there.

“That can’t be a good sign.” Pete murmured. Andy agreed quietly, but didn’t want to speak at the moment. He exited first, walking over to a table placed in the hallway with decorative flowers on top, and broke a leg off of it suddenly, the vase full of water and flowers crashing to the floor. Patrick made a disgruntled noise, but Andy held the broken wood out in front of him, turning from side to side.

“You’re not even going to ask who’s there?” the younger female vampire asked, tapping the back of Andy’s shoulder. Andy spun around, and she was holding Pete in front of her like a massive shield. As much as Pete squirmed, and as perfectly dainty as the girl looked, her hands held him in an iron grip, her small grin sly.

“What are you gonna do, stake me?” she asked. The wood in Andy’s hand trembled.

“Let him go.” Andy said, surprised at how firm his voice still was. She laughed, tossing her head back.

“Or what?” she asked. And Andy didn’t have a very good response to that.

Very suddenly, Joe lurched forward, sinking his teeth into one of the girl’s arms. She released that arm from her hold, screeching in pain, and Patrick grabbed Pete, pulling him the rest of the way out of her grip. Without time to hesitate, Andy slammed the broken chunk of wood right into the center of her chest.

The creature screamed as he did. No longer was she a beautiful humanoid, her head was twisting all directions, her jaw unhinged as spit and foam flew from her mouth, along with a shrieking, gurgling noise. She writhed in inhuman agony, her screams piercing the night air loud enough to wake everyone in the hotel, when the noises stopped abruptly.

The vampire’s body dissolved, not vanishing completely, but crumbling apart, turning into particles like flecks of ash, drifting down onto the hotel carpet till a pile of white ashes lay where she had been standing.

“What the fu…” Patrick trailed off weakly. All of them stood around it, staring down where the girl had just died, been killed. Andy had killed her. He felt sick to his stomach.

“Come on.” Joe said thickly after a minute. “Come on, there are still two more of them after us.” Joe grabbed the table leg off the ground, and led them all back into the elevator, where they road it up to the top floor. Andy was in a daze staring directly forward, his thoughts chasing each other in helpless circles. He had killed someone. A vampire, yes, but it had been alive. A vampire that had emotions, others that cared whether it lived or died. He felt ill.

“Top floor.” Joe announced, peering out the glass side of the elevator. It was true. All they could see above them was ceiling. They waited for the door to open, then pushed the open door button. Nothing happened. All the lights in the elevator went off then, and it began to go up, past the ceiling, and Andy wasn’t sure who started screaming, but soon all of them were pressed up against the glass back wall, screaming like they were being staked in the chest as well.

The door opened with a small ding, but rather than angry Russian vampires, a man in a suit stood facing them with a stony expression. Other hotel workers stood behind him, and the sounds of clanging utensils and plates rang out through the room.

“Come with me.” the man in front said, beckoning them forward with a stiff finger.

The suited man led the four of them into an office further down the hall, where he sat behind the desk, staring stonily at them.

“I am the manager of this hotel.” he said. “And would you like to explain why I got a call at three in the morning saying that four trannies are damaging hotel property?”

“I don’t think you’d believe us if we told you.” Joe said wearily.

“Try me.” he hissed. “Try and give me one good reason not to call the police and have you all arrested.”

“We’re underaged?” Patrick tried feebly. The manager snorted.

“You, maybe.” he said derisively. “I somehow doubt it when it comes to your friends. I am honestly curious what the deal here is. Prostitution publicity stunt? Drag show gone wrong?”

“Listen sir,” Joe said. “This was all just a misunderstanding. We’re very sorry, and we’ll never come here again, is that okay?”

“If you can’t tell me the truth, I will inform the authorities.” he promised.

Andy turned to Pete, who still looked as though he was in shock. They definitely needed him to say something now, to charmspeak their way out of this, and quickly. But Pete just stared forward, a guilty look on his face.

The manager leaned in closer, and said “You will not be offered this opportunity twice.”

“Pete,” Patrick whispered, and Pete snapped to attention abruptly.

“Sir,” Pete began, a smile sliding across his face as his voice turned smooth, almost caramel-y, thick and rich and sweet. “This is all just a misunderstanding.” Every word he said rang through the room twice, like a powerful echo.

“A… a misunderstanding?” the manager asked.

“A misunderstanding.” Pete repeated. “You don’t want to get us in any trouble. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. We’ll let bygones be bygones, right?” Pete’s smile was quickly growing strained, and Andy could see the exhaustion rapidly growing in the creases of his eyes.

“Of course.” The manager looked dazed. “My apologies. Have a safe trip home.” he waved them out of his office, and stared off into the corner. As soon as the door shut, Pete’s smile disappeared entirely, and they all stared at each other.

“The other vampires.” Joe croaked. “What about them?”

“I think they’ll want to deal with their dead.” Andy said. “I don’t know.”

“We shouldn’t stay here.” Pete said. He sounded drained, but his voice was still steady. “The charmspeak’ll wear off eventually, and it’s better if we’re far away when it does.”

“Let’s just get back to the house as quick as we can, then.”  Joe said. “I don’t wanna wait around for them to decide they can take us together.”

The four of them took off then, fleeing the hotel before the manager could see them. Patrick went back to tugging down his skirt every few steps, now that they were not in imminent danger. Andy kept his eyes peeled, and tried to focus as much of himself into his senses as possible so that he could alert them if they were in any danger. He also wanted to be on the lookout to distract himself.

Andy had killed someone. Morgan, he thought her name was. She had a name. As despicable as what she was doing was, he couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he had actually killed her. He had driven the stake into her heart, and she died in fear and agony. No matter how he tried to rationalize the murder, that she would have killed Pete and Joe, maybe all of them in time, it wouldn’t stop his hands from shaking. He felt worse than he had all evening.

“What about the others?” Andy asked a few blocks down, out of the blue. Joe turned sharply to face him, stopping in his tracks.

“You said that they wouldn’t come after us.” he said. Andy shook his head, as though his skull were waterlogged.

“The girls in the tunnel.” he said. Joe’s face paled, but Patrick actually let out a little laugh. Andy looked at him in confusion, and Patrick shrugged, then pulled the hem of his dress down again.

“Some kid left a swiss army knife or something in the tunnel.” Patrick said. “I figured my reflexes weren’t fast enough to use it in a fight, so I handed it to the girl that was still fighting back. She’s probably had enough time to cut through the ropes by now.”

Andy and the others gaped at him until Patrick began to look uncomfortable.

“What?” he asked.

“Incredible.” Andy shook his head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Even Pete was giving Patrick a genuine smile, which was an improvement.

“We should still check in the morning.” Joe said. “But for now, let’s just head back.

By the time they reached the house of the girl they were staying with, the sky was beginning to lighten, and she was still sitting up in the living room, sniffling over a bowl of ice cream.

“Rough night?” Pete asked sympathetically. She nodded, but when she looked up at them, she cracked a grin.

“You two?” she giggled. Pete walked into the living room, spreading his arms.

“Do I look hot?” he asked. Andy obligingly stepped forward as well, and she gave each of them an appreciative, watery chuckle.

“Thanks guys.” she said.

Having felt like he had done at least one good thing that night, Andy crawled under some blankets in the basement, where he fell asleep instantly, figuring that he could deal with the dress and makeup disaster in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will I ever stop saying sorry for the delay? Probably not. Chapter title by Green Day.


	6. Sabotage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band looks into an urban legend in Pennsylvania on their way to a music video shoot. But some creatures just really don't want to be found, and old vans die hard.

“You know what? I hate American highways.” Patrick declared at eight in the morning as they were all shuffling out to the van.

“Better than high school.” Joe reminded him.

“Don’t talk about high school.” Pete pleaded. “I was in such a good mood that now it’s legal to take you two out of the state.”

“I mean it.” Patrick said, climbing in the back of the van. “I really hate highways. It’s this endless expanse of road filled with semis and soccer moms and car horns and endless fucking corn.”

“Point the first,” Joe began, “You picked a really terrible career to have if you hate highways.”

“Yeah.” Patrick agreed.

“Point the second,” he continued, pulling out onto the street and resting his elbow on the horn while he did, to clear all the college student pedestrians out of their path, “we’re leaving corn country today, so we should actually be able to see some mountains.”

“If we don’t get hopelessly lost.” Patrick yawned, leaning his head up against the window.

“Thanks for your belief in me.” Joe muttered. Andy was already deep in his book, and Pete was leaning back, a half smile on his face as he listened to them banter.

“Why are we leaving in the morning anyway, if we have days to get there?” Patrick asked, his mood sour already.

“Because, princess,” Joe managed to give the impression of rolling his eyes just with his voice, which was impressive. “Daylight savings time is slightly more of a bitch than you are, and I’ve only got about eight hours of sun to work with.”

“We drive through the night all the time.” Patrick said, still crabby.

“Not in the goddamn Appalachian Mountains, with sharp curves and ice on everything.” Joe replied.

They were going to go shoot a music video, in New York of all places. Not only that, but since they had left in plenty of time to get there, they were planning on trying to investigate more, doing their “superhero thing” as Pete said. The excitement had yet to fade off, but Patrick’s disposition towards mornings was still anything but pleasant. It was also freezing cold out, and the heater in the van was still technically working, but the lukewarm air it puffed out wouldn’t take effect for at least another half hour of driving, he knew from experience.

Patrick pulled his coat tighter around him sourly. Andy looked perfectly at ease in a t-shirt, and Joe had on only a light hoodie, while Patrick felt unbearably similar to the younger brother in A Christmas Story, wearing so many layers of coats and jackets that he could hardly move. Yet another perk that vampires and werewolves had over him. Far less susceptible to cold weather.

The consolation, if any, was that Pete took the cold even worse than Patrick did, with a thick scarf covering his mouth, even as the van got warm enough for Patrick to shed his top coat.

They lasted a whole twenty minutes in peace and quiet, with the pale silvery light of winter coating the windows and bringing a little bit of warmth in. At which point Joe jammed a button on the dashboard, and the interior filled with loud doom metal.

“It’s eight in the morning,” Patrick grumbled. Pete grinned a little.

“You would be complaining if it were three in the afternoon.” Joe shot back.

“I hate road trips too.” Patrick proclaimed.

“Joe’s right, dude, this is so not the career for you.” Pete said sagely. Andy gave no outward appearance of paying them any attention whatsoever.

“It doesn’t make sense for the driver to pick the music.” Patrick said. “Shouldn’t you be focused on driving?”

“Music helps me focus, asshole.” Joe said. The van’s brakes screeched as he pulled to a stop in the morning rush. “God, we need a new van.”

“Shh,” Andy murmured, not looking up from his book. “You’re going to hurt its feelings.”

“Piece of shit!” Joe yelled, but he didn’t look upset about it. Neither of them were particularly helping Patrick fall asleep against the icy window.

“Can you turn the heat up?” Pete asked.

“This is turned up, you know that.” Joe said.

“Yeah, I know that.” Pete agreed sadly. Patrick jokingly leaned over and began rubbing his arm, but when he pulled away, Pete groaned.

“Noooo, come back, you’re warm.” he whined. Patrick moved into the middle seat with a sigh, leaning up against Pete, who made a happy noise in the back of his throat.

Joe drove until the sun was high in the sky  without a break, or so it had seemed. Patrick couldn’t actually confirm this, Andy could have driven almost all the way, but when he woke up, sticky with sweat from a combination of the midday sun beating down on the metal roof, his layers of hoodies, and Pete still underneath him, exuding heat. Patrick groaned, trying to roll off of him, but Pete caught an arm around his chest, holding him up.

“Lemme go,” Patrick mumbled, shoving at his arm sleepily.

“I’m trying to stop you from landing in god knows what’s on the floor of this thing.” Pete said, chuckling a little.

“You’re a thousand degrees!” Patrick whined, and, laughing, Pete set him upright.

“Morning,” Joe said, the sound of a smile in his voice. Patrick still felt too disoriented to grumble, so he rubbed his eyes and pulled off his jacket.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Ohio.” Andy said.

“Ew,” Patrick wrinkled his nose up. “Wake me up when we get to civilization.”

“This is civilization, it’s called Toledo and we’re getting lunch.” Joe said.

“What time is it?” Patrick asked.

“Um, it’s one our time,” Joe said. “so two. Are you gonna stop bitching about it being too early?”

“Yeah right.” Andy muttered.

“I’m not that- it’s too early for this.” Patrick sighed, and they all cracked up. Pete leaned back, stretching and cracking his back, and Patrick felt a slight twinge of guilt.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said. Pete shrugged.

“Well, I didn’t have to piss, or you would have woken up in a really different way,” he said, and Patrick rolled his eyes.

It was so easy and normal sometimes, Patrick could almost forget that they weren’t a normal band. He never understood why heroes in stories always just wanted to be normal people, and it really did just seem like the ultimate case of the grass always being greener. He would have given anything to be a super hero back in high school, and now that they actively went around saving people’s lives, half of the time he just wanted to revel in the whole band getting big stuff. Not that he wasn’t completely enthralled the other half of the time.

Andy had yet to pick out a weapon, and Patrick… well, he was working on it. He wanted something that felt comfortable in his hands, that he could use without feeling as though he were more likely to hurt himself. But Pete had grabbed an old lead pipe off of a particularly sketchy venue, and had been using that as a bludgeoning weapon, and  Joe had acquired a gun from helping clean out his grandmother’s house, a really pretty pistol that had the added bonus of sparking every time it went off, which would, if nothing else, scare vampires away if they ran into them again.

Thankfully, they hadn’t run into vampires again, not since the Indianapolis encounter. It had, to say the least, shaken Andy up quite a lot. He spent a lot of time trying to track down the vampires with the little information that they had. Nobody blamed him. The things they had said sounded fishy, but Andy wouldn’t tell them his suspicions just yet. The whole idea of it was concerning. Vampires, from what little experience Patrick now had with them, were terrifying. Faster and stronger than anything he had ever seen before, with fangs that looked more like stiletto daggers than the slightly elongated canines Andy had. And, as far as they could tell, they were planning on creating a lot more people just like Andy. He had a personal, “superhero and his villain” kind of vendetta against them, as Pete had described it when Andy was decidedly not in earshot.

Patrick hoped the women had gotten out. They went back to the sewers the next morning, in the light, and wearing jeans again. Nothing remained to show that the vampires had ever been there in the first place, but he had given her a means of escape, Patrick kept reminding himself. They could have gotten out. Not that three of them had wanted to, but…

The reverie Patrick had been stewing in was broken with the loud, screeching sound of the brakes squealing to a hard stop in front of a mom and pop sort of diner. All of the white tables and red vinyl booths were visible from the window outside, and Patrick felt his throat constrict for just a moment. It wasn’t the same diner as the one where they had been attacked in Wisconsin, but he still jumped at similar looking places.

Joe twisted himself around in his seat to face the back and stare at Pete and Patrick.

“Try not to get yourselves killed while I get gas.” he said somberly, with no sign of joking.

“Yes mom,” Patrick snorted, and Pete gave him a half salute. Joe sighed and turned to Andy.

“Make sure they don’t get themselves killed.” he said, and Andy smirked a little.  

“No promises.” he said, and they climbed out, the van shuddering as the doors slammed shut.

This diner really wasn’t that similar on the inside, Patrick noted, going out of his way to look calm and collected, and hoping it worked. A geeky looking waitress led them to their table, and they ordered immediately, Pete ordering for Joe. Pete and Andy started making small talk about the book Andy had been reading, one of Pete’s favorites, probably, while they waited for Joe. To talk business. And not music business. Patrick felt antsy at the thought.

“Hey,” Joe dropped into the booth next to Patrick, lifting his hands and shaking snowflakes out of his hair. “What am I getting?”

“A giant platter called ‘breakfast for pop’, it has half the menu on it, so I’m sure you’ll find something you like.” Pete told him.

“Sweet.” Joe said. “So, I can get us to Pittsburgh, but the directions out to the Green Man tunnel are a little unclear from there.”

“It’s not hard to find.” Andy said. “I’ve been reading up on it, it’s only about thirty minutes out.”

“Think we’ll be bothered by like, demons or vampires or high schoolers or something dreadful like that?” Joe asked.

“Not on a Thursday.” Pete said, shaking his head. “And anyway, only we would be crazy enough to go investigate an outdoor urban legend in Pennsylvania in mid January.”

“For the record, I still think you’re crazy.” Joe said.

“And yet here you are.” Pete grinned, and Joe leaned back, clearly annoyed. Patrick had decided not to take a position on the matter. He would go along with it, but he did somewhat agree with Joe.

“Look,” Pete explained, with all the eternal patience of a toddler’s parent. “The most famous Pittsburgh legend is that of the Green Man, Charley-No-Face,  yeah? Terribly deformed ghost or entity of a guy that was electrocuted working for the power company. His skin is glowing green, so all the stories say.”

“Yeah, the stories also all say that he was just a dude that got in a terrible electrical accident when he was like, ten, and it messed up his face, so he would walk the road at night.”

“Exactly!” Pete shouted, and some of the patrons stared at him. “Exactly,” he repeated in a hushed tone. “Ray Robinson, incredibly deformed, went on late night walks, yeah. But every article on him calls him the little known actual green man, and how is that little known? He never walked anywhere near the legendary tunnel, and there’s no reason for him to be called the green man.” Pete laid emphasis on the word green, and Joe pursed his lips.

“It does seem a little suspicious.” Andy agreed, sipping his water thoughtfully. “They mention Ray Robinson in every source, yet all claim most people don’t know that, and Robinson has no connection to the Green Man tunnel-”

“The Green Man Tunnel, famous for breaking your cars,” Joe winced. “Do we really want to tempt fate with the old girl?”

“I thought the van was a boy,” Patrick said sleepily, still a little bleary.

“The van’s gender is irrelevant.” Joe said. “What is relevant is how old it is, and how I’m not going to push it 30 miles into Pittsburgh at midnight in January.”

“I have a cell phone.” Pete said. Joe rolled his eyes.

“Look, it’s worth a shot.” Patrick said. “I mean, worst case scenario is what? We’re stuck by the side of the road for a while?”

“Thank you.” Pete said.

“As much as I love investigating nonthreatening urban legends, doesn’t it seem like we’re ignoring the problem?” Joe asked.

“If you’re referencing the vampires,” Andy said coldly, “there’s not much we can do about them at the moment. I’ve been looking, and I can’t find anything. If I do, you’ll be the first to know, but they clean up after themselves, and this may end up being hard to trace.”

“Which doesn’t explain why we’re going after an urban legend.” Joe said.

“Look, dude,” Pete said, “don’t you wanna know more about this world? Isn’t it crazy how much shit there is that we don’t know about? There’s gotta be more out there.”

The argument, much the same as every time, was pretty grating on Patrick. He knew it well. Joe would mention the relative pointlessness of what they were going to do, and Pete would end up convincing all of them. Patrick had suspicions that he could convince them so easily at least in part because of his weird fairy magic, but he never said so out loud. He was also fairly certain that if it was a weird fairy thing, Pete didn’t know he was doing it, because he wouldn’t do that to his friends on purpose. Probably, Patrick reasoned, he just let enough magic slip out to be really charismatic.

“I’m just saying that if we go looking for trouble…” and really, it was mostly those two, Patrick thought. Joe would always play devil’s advocate, whichever choice was more popular among the four, he would side with the alternative. But as dangerous as it was, they had helped people.

One hour and a late lunch later, Joe was in complete agreement, and Patrick was awake enough that he felt fairly confident they would be safe while he drove. Andy had been designated navigator, not that there was much need for one. Once he got back on the interstate, there was very little for Patrick to do aside from think about whatever he could to keep himself awake.

“Do we even have a plan to do anything if we do find this ‘Green Man’?” Patrick asked after a while. All was quiet save for the low rumble of the engine.

“Investigate further?” Pete said. “Um, find out why he’s angry? Who he really is if not Ray Robinson? See why he died, what he does, and if he’s a threat to anyone. If he isn’t a threat, then be content that we have more general knowledge than all of Pittsburg put together.”

“If he is a danger?” Andy asked warily.

“We’ll deal with that then.” Pete said. “But all the reports just say car trouble, and that’s not so bad.”

“Yet again, I beg to differ.” Joe said, and Pete didn’t reply.

Patrick hated to admit it, but Joe was right about when they had to leave, and after only an hour or two of driving, the sun had begun to set on him.

“Are we staying somewhere for the night?” Andy asked when it got too dark to read, his book stuffed between his thigh and the car door.

“Yes, we are, and we’re already here! It’s this van.” Joe said, feigning excitement. Andy sighed deeply, his head pressed up against the glass.

“Hey, is this the exit?” Patrick asked, squinting out through the windshield.

“Yeah, wait, no.” Andy said, then stared a second longer. “Wait, yes!” he yanked the steering wheel hard to the right suddenly, letting go when they were on the ramp.

“Thank you for the heart attack.” Patrick yelled, feeling like his organs had been left behind on the interstate. He hated driving this giant van with the trailer attached to the back, he was certain he was going to end up killing someone in an accident.

“It’s hard to see at night.” Andy said, not at all bashfully.

“You’re a vampire.” Joe pointed out. “Shouldn’t the night be like, your time?”

“I’m a vampire with less than 20-20 vision, and in any case, I’m only half vampire.” Andy pushed his glasses higher up on his nose as though to prove his point.

“Pittsburgh.” Joe wrinkled up his nose in distaste, rolling down the window for a second, then making a gagging face and rolling it back up. “It smells kind of like Detroit.”

“And what does Detroit smell like?” Pete asked.

“Diesel and french fry oil.” Joe said.

Once in the city of Pittsburgh, directions got a bit more complicated.

“Joe can see in the dark.” Patrick complained.

“And you didn’t want to drive in the morning.” Joe retorted.

So Andy gave careful directions to help Patrick wind around the dark roads of Pennsylvania. Once outside of Pittsburgh, (directly outside, where the interstate didn’t even reach) the two lane highway was empty of cars, and surrounded on other side by towering trees. Towering trees that would occasionally drop branches and icicles in strong bursts of wind. The trees shuddered, and the unlit, empty road was more than just creepy, it was downright unnerving.

“Right here,” Andy said, pointing. It was the first time any of them had spoken in a while, the silence crawling up under their skin. Patrick turned, and after crunching down a broken up, partially gravel road for a while, they reached the mouth of a large, yawning tunnel.

***

"Well, that's creepy." Patrick said. Aside from what was, in Pete's opinion, the aesthetic terror of a real life place that belonged on the cover of a Stephen King novel, he could also sense a strangeness coming from within the tunnel. It was much more than physical darkness inside the tunnel, it was that it seemed to project darkness, rejecting the glow of the headlights. It felt dark. And as a fairy, Pete made a habit of trusting his gut feelings.

"There's something there." Pete said. He could feel the band's eyes turn toward him, and he bit his lip, concentrating on the opening. There was no obvious aura coming from the place, but something rather like static was buzzing in his ears.

“Great, that means we’re right.” Joe said, kicking his door open so that a blast of cold air shot through the van. He climbed out, followed by the others with Pete bringing up the very rear, biting down on his lip in concern. They pulled flashlights out of the back, and some crosses, just for good measure.

“Alright?” Andy asked Pete, and Pete shook his head in a yes/no combination, as though he were trying to shake water out of his hair.

“Yeah,” he said, “but there’s definitely something there.”

“Any idea what it is?” Joe asked, trying pretty obviously not to sound annoyed.

“It’s not human.” Pete said, ignoring his reflexes and trying to feel more of whatever-it-was.

“Thanks, Sherlock,” Joe muttered.

“Ghosts are human.” Pete snapped back.

“Isn’t this meant to be a ghost?” Patrick asked.

“That’s the trouble.” Pete agreed, then, summoning his courage, he stepped into the tunnel, holding out a flashlight ahead of him sweeping the beam across the inside of the tunnel. For a haunted place, there was a surprisingly sparse amount of graffiti: a few names, a hyper detailed skull, an upside down cross, and a crude cartoon painting of a stick figure getting electrocuted.

“Tactless.” Pete murmured, wiping his thumb across the empty circle that represented the man’s head.

“They all think he’s a real guy. And they still do this stuff.” Joe said, disgust plain on his face.

"They said people who saw Ray on the side of the highway would pester him for pictures." Andy said. "Sometimes he would do it for cigarettes or beer, but some people would lace whatever they gave him with other things."

"Yeah, people suck." Pete agrees dismissively. "But we aren't here for Raymond Robinson."

At his words, a low rumbling broke out in the tunnel, a deep noise that sounded almost like a dark chuckle. It filled the edges of the dark space, so loud it seemed it should shake the ceiling and walls until  loose chunks of cement crumbled to the ground.

“What is this?” Pete yelled over the noise, and Joe put a finger up to his lips to shush him. Pete thought Joe must hear more than he could, so he shut his mouth. The cavern began to fill up with the smell of ozone, and a crackling noise came from behind them.

Pete spun around, facing the entrance again, and saw a flicker of a shadow of a man standing between the band and the cold January air. Pete startled backwards, but it was only there for a second.

"What is it?" Andy asked him. Pete turned to face the tunnel again. He swung the beam of light around, watching as it got swallowed by the caved in end of the tunnel.

"It's creepy." Patrick admitted at length, "but I don't see any supernatural-y stuff."

"I'm with you." Joe said. "Weird, but not weird for us."

"Can’t you hear it?" Pete asked. The rumbling had yet to stop.

"Hear what?" Patrick asked. Abruptly, the noises stopped, leaving the tunnel just as dead silent as it had been before. Pete wondered, for the first time, if he were imagining things.

"...nothing." he said after a pause.

“No, you noticed something.” Andy said.

“I heard this rumbling,” Pete admitted, “but it’s gone now.”

“Well, is there a plan from here?” Joe asked.

“All the legends I can find say to drive into the tunnel,” Andy began hesitantly. “But listen, I don’t know if we should… agitate the situation.”

“Well, we have to do something.” Joe said. “Otherwise we drove like fifty miles out of our way for- SHIT!” he exclaimed as all of the flashlights they carried went out. The rumbling sound returned with a vengeance, causing Pete to drop his dead flashlight, covering his ears with his hands and twisting his face up in pain.

“Pete!” He could just barely hear Patrick’s worried yell from behind the rumbling, so loud it hurt. It sounded like he was directly beneath a train, or in the earth during an earthquake. He felt Patrick’s hand on his shoulder right before he heard the screaming begin.

It didn’t sound like any of his friends, but someone was screaming, an ear piercing noise. Whoever it was was clearly in a lot of pain, and Pete wanted to help them, had to help them, and he began to stumble deeper into the tunnel, hands still clapped over his ears to block the noise.

“Pete, wait!” Patrick’s voice rang out over the other sounds, muffled by his hands but somehow clearer than the other sounds, realer.

A hand pulled his arm down from his head, and Pete looked up to see Patrick, staring at him with intense concern. The glow of the headlights was dim enough that he could only see the outline of Patrick, but the longer Pete stared at him, the quieter the rumbling and screaming got, until it fell silent at last.

“Pete?” Patrick asked quietly after a minute or two.

“Someone was screaming.” Pete said, though he knew that none of the others would have heard it. Sure enough, Patrick shook his head.

“No one was screaming. Were they?” The question was obviously meant for Joe and Andy, but Patrick continued to look at Pete. The others murmured their dissent, and Pete nodded.

“I think it’s an echo.” he said.

Pete was met with blank stares.

“An echo of what happened?” he tried to explain. “The screaming, it could have been someone getting electrocuted.”

“Maybe.” Joe looked dubious. “Why can only you hear it?”

“Fairy thing.” Pete said. “I’m more, uh, psychically sensitive.”

“Aren’t dogs supposed to be psychic too?” Andy muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Joe began loudly, “Could you say that again?”

“What?” Andy spoke up a little. “I was only asking!”

“Oh, lemme tell you-!”

Joe stopped abruptly, as the rumbling in the tunnel began again. It was much scarier without any lights but those of the car, everyone reduced to their silhouettes. This time the tunnel did shake, the ground beneath Pete’s feet trembling.

“Is that the sound you heard?” Patrick asked, as the rumbling stopped.

“Yeah.” Pete said, his voice small.

“Maybe we should go,” Joe suggested, and they all made for the exit of the tunnel. They climbed into the van, sitting there for a moment as they all stared at the tunnel entrance from behind the safety of the windshield.

The noise had stopped, and Joe, now in the driver’s seat, flicked the bright lights on.

“Are we just- gonna leave?” Patrick asked, sounding expectant.

“Yes.” Andy said firmly. “Ghosts or demons or whatever the hell that is can’t be fought with physical strength.”

“We should find out what it is.” Pete said. “But maybe... maybe from a distance.”

“There’s no more research to be done.” Andy sounded exasperated. “Why can’t we chalk whatever it is up as dangerous and let it rest in peace?”

“We should-” Pete breathed deeply, trying to force the echo of the scream out of his mind and think logically. “We should at least pull into the tunnel. Like the legends say, it affects cars, right?”

“Yeah, let’s trash the escape car.” Joe muttered.

“Thank you!” Andy said in loud response to Joe, and Joe, with a look of annoyance on his face, pulled forward into the tunnel.

With the headlights bouncing off the cave in in the front, light glanced off all the walls, if only dimly. It looked, if anything, more haunted with the shadows thrown into even deeper relief, and all the cracks and bright red graffiti visible.

Patrick shivered in the seat next to Pete, and in truth, Pete had entirely forgotten the cold in the exhilaration of what they were doing.

Joe rolled down the window, and shouted “hey!” out of it. He hit the car horn a few times, and turned around to the backseat.

“Rumbling must’ve been coincidence.” he said. Pete and the others stared at him, and Joe huffed.

“Look, this is a very creepy place with a creepy history, but Ray Robinson was a real guy that got badly burned by electricity and got deformed. A lot of rumors circulated about him, but whatever you guys think is in here isn’t real. Whatever your,” he turned to Pete with annoyance, “‘fairy senses’ might be telling you. Just because we’re real doesn’t mean everything is.” he spoke with an air of finality.

As soon as Joe finished with his small speech, the engine of the van turned off.

The four of them sat in stunned silence in the dark for a moment. It was completely black inside the tunnel, and completely silent.

“Drive!” Andy yelled suddenly. “Get us out of here!”

“Great idea! Why don’t I turn the car back on!” Joe cried back, thick with sarcasm as they heard the key clicking around in the ignition to no avail.

Pete pulled at the door handle, but the lock was stuck, keeping them inside.

“We- we’re- l-lock-” Pete was petrified with fear at whatever malevolence was holding them there. Joe twisted the key again and again, but the engine didn’t even attempt to sputter to life.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck…” Patrick began whispering next to Pete, and there wasn’t much they could do. Blind and trapped, they were at the mercy of whatever it was Joe had just loudly denied the existence of.

After far too long panicking in the dark, Joe exclaimed “yes!” and the engine roared to life, light spilling into the tunnel once again. Their relief was short lived, as they caught sight of the figure of a man standing just in front of them, a pale, luminescent green man, without any face at all, much less a disfigured one. This thing had an aura Pete could see, less one of light and more one that somehow oozed darkness into the world around it, swallowing the light that came near it and making it look all the brighter.

They all screamed in terror, as it took a jerking step toward them.

“DRIVE!” Patrick screeched. “FUCKING DRIVE!”

In the front seat, Joe was fumbling with the gearshift, pushing forwards on it though it moved nowhere.

“It’s stuck!” he cried. “It’s fucking stuck!”

The van lurched forward, and Joe slammed on the brake. The engine revved loudly in protest.

“It’s trying to go forwards!” Joe screamed, his eyes wide with terror.

“DO-IT-RUN-IT-OVER-KILL-IT-HURRY!” Patrick screamed, the sentence coming out in one stream of words. The green thing took another lurching step towards them, and they all screamed again.

Andy reached out and grabbed the gear shift, yanking with all his might, but nothing happened.

“Hit it!” Pete suggested hopelessly. “Just let off the brake, please, do something!”

Joe turned to Andy, and he nodded fervently. The thing staggered forward again, and Joe eased up on the brake. The van flew forward, slamming into the creature with a sickening crunch. As soon as it hit, the gearshift went into reverse, and Joe peeled out of the tunnel, turning around in seconds and driving back to the highway as fast as it could go.

***

“So that was the green man?” Joe broke the silence after speeding down the interstate for nearly ten minutes. He still sounded shaky, and his knuckles were ice white where they gripped the steering wheel. Snow had begun to fall in heavy, wet flakes, slamming onto and splattering the glass of the windshield.

No one answered him. Andy was leaning his head back on the headrest, trying to count his breaths as he calmed down. He felt badly for Joe, having to focus on the road, but Andy needed to calm down.

“Did I kill it?” Joe asked after another long stretch of silence.

“No.” Pete responded instantly. Andy’s breath caught, but he wasn’t really surprised.

“How do you know?” Joe challenged him feebly, but he was still so obviously scared, that there wasn’t much threat to the question.

“I know when things die.” Pete said. “That wasn’t dead. It wasn’t quite alive, but-”

“Will you stop with the magic-sensei-jedi-fairy bullshit already?” Joe yelled. “What does being a fairy even fucking entail?!”

“Auras,” Pete replied, not flaring up the way he would have normally, more resigned sounding. “I see auras, I have psychic sensitivity. I’m extremely charismatic. I have charmspeak, to get people to do what I want or see things the way I see them. I know when people are lying and I can’t tell an outright lie.”

“Outright.” Joe snorted, hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest. Andy looked at him in concern, but his face was impassive, focused on the road. “What does that entail?”

“I can still use sarcasm, omit the truth, and walk around it, just like a real boy.” Pete shot Joe an ugly grimace. “And I knew there was something in there, something evil.”

“And you were the one that wanted to draw it out!” Joe yelled.

“This isn’t worth the argument!” Patrick yelled. “Just keep driving away.”

“No.” Joe said, shaking his head. “It’s snowing. The roads are just as dangerous as that thing. We’re stopping.”

“I thought we weren’t stopping till we got to New York.” Andy spoke up suddenly. He didn’t want to incite anyone’sanger any more, as they all seemed pretty emotional, but Andy was extremely eager to get far, far away from that tunnel and whatever lay inside.

“It’s started snowing.” Joe said grimly. “I’d agree with you otherwise.”

“There’s a first.” Andy said quietly. Joe shot him a look, but didn’t have a retort.

“Where are we staying?” Patrick asked.

“Pittsburgh.” Joe said.

“Absolutely not.” said Pete.

“I’m not driving through this,” Joe told him. “None of us are. We can get a motel room if you insist but we can’t drive down the interstate in a snowstorm.”

“We need to get further away from this thing, not stay in its hometown!” Pete said.

“We can wait to keep going till morning.” Andy said firmly. “We could also work on making basic decisions without going at each other’s throats, but I’m an optimist, not delusional.”

The band grew silent at his words, and though Andy knew the sentiment wouldn’t stick, it would be nice for a while. The trees bled into duplexes that bled into tall buildings that eventually lined the road as they reached downtown Pittsburgh. The Comfort Inn they pulled into was hardly the nicest looking place Andy had ever seen, but it looked roughly in their budget.

None of them even bothered to drag any luggage into the room, merely collapsing down on the two musty looking double beds in the room. Pete switched on the TV to Law and Order: a custom of the band’s that came with Pete’s inability to sleep in silence. He and Joe then wordlessly took one bed, and Andy waited while Patrick smoothed down the blankets on their own.

“You okay?” Andy asked, low enough under the blare of the television that he was certain only Patrick could hear him. Patrick nodded as he straightened pillows that weren’t crooked in the first place.

“Still breathing.” was his short reply, but if comforted Andy nonetheless.  Andy couldn’t help but feel guilty about Patrick all the time. It had been nearly a year since Andy had drank from Patrick, but he knew that in a universal sense, all of the supernatural stuff the band dealt with was his fault. They talked about it because of him. And maybe Joe and Pete would have had to deal with some of it anyways, but Patrick wouldn’t. Were it not for Andy, he could have lived a relatively normal life. He still could, except for the band.

It was easy to fall asleep next to Patrick, Andy thought. Joe always complained that he flailed in his sleep, but Andy, he was told, could sleep through an earthquake. And Andy liked the movement Patrick made as they were falling asleep. It was a reminder of life, Andy thought. It was strange, but the occasional shifting of weight on the bed, without any rhythm for him to attempt to follow, made it easier for Andy to lose track of his thoughts and fall asleep.

It seemed as though Andy’s head had just hit the pillow when he felt hands on his shoulders, frantically shaking him awake.

“Andy?!” someone sounded frantic, but Andy was too tired to place a name to the voice. Behind his eyelids, he could see that it was lighter out, maybe sunrise.

“Hmm?” he groaned, and whoever it was hit him in the shoulder, hard.

“You really need to wake up  now!” Patrick whispered frantically. Andy’s eyes flew open, and saw that the entire hotel room was bathed in an eerie green glow. Patrick’s face was directly above his, but he kept looking to the left, terror plain in his eyes. Andy turned to look past him, and he felt his insides turn to ice.

The Green Man stood on the television screen, against a field of black. It seemed to be inside the TV, thankfully, but the glow it was putting off spread out from the screen, filling up the room with a soft, unnatural glow.  The TV was small, which left the formerly life sized man less than a foot tall. Andy heard a rapid clicking noise beside him, and turned to see a wide eyed Pete aiming the remote at the television and pressing down on the red power button again and again.

A rumbling noise began to fill up the room, followed by the sound of heavy static exuding from the screen.

“Do you mock me?” the static formed into garbled words, barely discernible above the noise. The Green Man began walking forward, and then, to Andy’s terror, it clamped its hand down on the front of the television, as though pulling itself out.

“Oh fuck that!” Patrick yelled, and he dove forward, yanking the thick black television plug out of the wall. As he did, the tv went dark, and the green glow that had filled the room was gone.

“Seriously!” Patrick was yelling, though Andy could see him only faintly as his eyes adjusted. “Seriously? Mermaids, I can handle. Werewolves, I can handle. Riding on the back of the fucking lion from the Art Institute, sure, why not. But I am not going to be the scream queen in a shitty rip off of The Ring!”

“I can’t believe that worked.” Joe said, shaking his head. And, as though the universe were mocking them, Andy thought, all of the lights in their hotel room flipped on, with green light rather than the dingy yellow hotel rooms usually had. Pete let out a low moan, and the phone on the bedside table between the two beds started ringing.

“I hate this fucking band.” Andy whispered, staring at the ringing phone. It rang again and again and again, going for much longer than any normal phone should. Finally, Joe lurched over Pete, and pulled it off the hook.

“Hello?” he yelled, sounding more wired than anything else. The same static-y voice came out of the phone, loud enough for all of them to hear.

“You hurt me,” it said, sounding hoarse. “Careless people, you live careless lives, and you surround yourselves by the electricity that destroyed me.”

“Who are you? Joe asked, and Andy felt a surge of begrudging admiration towards him for his bravery. “You’re not Raymond Robinson.”

“No,” the voice agreed. “Robinson survived because of me.”

“Sure,” Joe said, “Okay. Why did you let him survive?”

“Everyone who seeks to disturb me gets a chance,” the Green Man said. Andy caught Joe’s eye, and Joe raised his eyebrows, and almost imperceptibly shrugged.

“Do we get a chance?” Joe asked.

The voice on the phone just laughed, and it sounded like jumpy static, crackling louder.

“Do we get a chance?” Joe repeated, louder.

“Certainly,” the words sounded more garbled now, as though it were still laughing. “A chance against a god.”

“You’re an urban legend,” Joe said, “Far from a god.”

“And yet I’m so much more powerful than you.” it was still laughing, as Joe slammed the phone back onto the receiver, and looked at the rest of them with wild eyes.

“Get in the van.” he ordered, and they all made for the door.

It was a relief to get out of the green room, even into the night all filled with snow. It was coming down even heavier than before, but Joe looked much less concerned about the weather now.

Once inside the van, Pete said, “The storm?” and Joe just shook his head.

“I’ll take my chances.” he said. “Sit up front, I need you to take care of the road signs so I can focus on us not getting killed.”

Rather than argue the obvious personal preferences, Andy moved to the back seat, Just behind Pete’s chair.

“Let’s think about this!” Patrick demanded once they got on the road. “This thing, he came to us through a tv and a phone and lamps, so he runs on electricity, or through electricity, or something, right? Shouldn’t we just isolate ourselves from electricity?”

“Yes, Patrick!” Joe yelled, voice taut. “Let’s go isolate ourselves from electricity in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of January, in the middle of a snowstorm!”

“Forgive me for not wanting to get my face electrocuted off, seeing as how Ray Robinson is that thing’s idea of being merciful!”

“I hate teenagers,” Pete muttered. The band, Andy thought, not for the first time, wasn’t a very functional one, and even more unbelievably, the three of them lived with each other full time.

“I can live without your superiority complex!” Joe yelled at Pete, not tearing his eyes away from the road. Patrick and Pete both opened their mouths to shout something back, but Andy put a hand on either of their shoulders.

“Maybe just let him focus on driving.” Andy said mildly, and they both shut their mouths. Joe grumbled something that sounded almost like “thanks”, but Andy couldn’t confirm it.

Andy was nervous himself, looking at the road. The dashboard clock was something like three hours and fourteen minutes off, but after subtracting a bit, Andy figured it must be sometime around seven in the morning, central time. The sun would be rising soon, directly in front of them on the horizon, but as it was, the headlights illuminated thickly falling snow about twenty feet in front of them.

“I can drive if you want.” Pete offered quietly.

“I’m good.” Joe said, though he still held the steering wheel in a vice grip. Andy stared out the window. The highways was totally empty, on their side anyway. The other side of the interstate had a steady stream of expensive looking cars, probably commuting to Pittsburgh for the morning.

While Andy was staring out of the window, he suddenly realized that the telephone wire on the side of the road was glowing a bright, electric green.

“Joe,” Andy said, keeping his tone carefully even. Joe huffed a little as indication that he heard, and Andy continued.

“Try to stay calm, but I think this thing is in the phone wires.” Andy said. Joe tensed up a bit, but kept his eyes forward.

“Any suggestions?” he asked tightly.

“Just keep driving. I only thought you should know.”

“Thanks.” Joe said. Pete was already starting to nod off against the window, and Patrick was curled up against his door as well. Andy was still too wired to even think of going back to sleep.

Joe looked over at Pete’s sleeping figure for just a second, then back to the road, shaking his head just slightly.

“I probably should have let you stay up front.” he admitted.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” Andy told him, and Joe grimaced.

“You’re nicer than I deserve.” he said.

“Is now really the time for a heart to heart?” Andy asked, and Joe shrugged.

“They’re asleep, and it’s not like the two of us hang out on our own all that often.” he pointed out.

“If you think I’m nicer than you deserve, then…” Andy trailed off, not wanting to break off this tentative acceptance. Joe made a humming noise, switching lanes to avoid a wreck on the road. Andy kept one eye out for the phone wires, careful to make sure nothing happened, aside from the light up green.

“I’m sorry,” Joe said after some time had passed. “I just don’t trust you.”

“I got that.” Andy said, a little brusquely.

“And it’s not like Pete thinks.” Joe continued. “That is, it’s not a wolf thing. Aside from actually getting bit, I haven’t had dealings with any other werewolves.” He spat the last word like it was offensive.

“It’s just that I’m- don’t laugh,” he stopped, and Andy shook his head, not wanting to jar him.

“Well I’ve gotten kind of protective of… them.” Joe lowered his voice, even though they could both tell that Pete and Patrick had somehow fallen asleep. “I mean, Patrick’s five feet tall and lived in a suburb his whole life. He’s the most human-y human I know. And Pete’s- well, he’s Pete.” Joe sounded almost bashful.

“I know what you mean.” Andy said.

“And it’s weird thinking that I’m younger than them when I spend half my time feeling like the only adult,” Joe’s volume increased only marginally, but Andy could hear the emotion behind his words. “It’s like, they think this is all some kind of adventure, and you let them!”

He didn’t turn around, but Andy could see Joe’s accusing blue eyes staring at him in the rear view mirror.

“Not only do you let them, you put them in more danger,” he added. “They wouldn’t have to deal with any of this shit if you hadn’t gone and tried to frickin eat him!”

“I know!” Andy almost shouted back, then lowered his voice. “I know, okay? Don’t think that I don’t. What do you want me to do? Every time I try and get you all to not run headlong into danger you side with Pete just to not agree with me!”

“I know.” Joe said miserably. There was another long stretch of silence.

“And now there’s this vampire cult bullshit.” he groaned. “And we’ll have to deal with that, assuming we live through this shit.” he waved his hand around, then promptly put it back on the steering wheel.

“You don’t blame me for that.” Andy said coldly.

“I don’t want to,” Joe said apologetically.

“At least you’re honest.” Andy sighed. The sun was rising, but somehow it looked like the green on the wire was getting brighter.

“Look, I’m sorry about the Patrick thing,” Andy started. “And I don’t mean I’m apologizing to you, I mean I’m sorry. Regretful. But he’s over it, and we can’t change the past.”

“I know that.” Joe said.

“But you still don’t like me.” Andy said.

“Are you crazy?” Joe laughed out loud once. “I definitely like you. You’re fucking awesome, dude, I just don’t trust you.”

“That’s really strange.”Andy said.

“Yeah,” Joe agreed. “I’m working on it, though.”

Andy let himself smile, a small smile that Joe reciprocated in the mirror. He was caught up in the moment for a second, then he turned his head back to the wire.

“It’s gone.” he said, frowning.

“What do you mean?” Joe asked, businesslike again.

“The phone wires, they had been glowing green. They aren’t anymore.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing?” Joe suggested.

No sooner had he said so than a loud banging noise came from the top of the van, like something heavy had landed on it, and a green light began to fill the interior.

***

“Shit!” Joe whispered, and, trying to think on his feet, he slammed his foot on the brake, hoping that whatever landed on the van would go flying off.

It seemed fairly successful. A large, human sized mass of green flew forward, while the semi behind them honked angrily. The green man stood up in front of them on the road, and began to take shuddering, stuttering steps towards them.

“Drive away!” Andy whispered hoarsely.

“No shit,” Joe growled, swerving into the left lane and pressing down on the gas, driving past it as fast as he dared. He still had to look ahead of him, and he tried to have faith in Andy’s ability to warn him of the thing.

“On your left.” Andy said, just loud enough for Joe to hear, and he swerved in front of the creature, then back into his lane.

“You don’t wanna hit it?” Andy asked.

“That seemed to just piss it off last time.” Joe said. “I just wanna live long enough to meet up with everyone in New York, and maybe someone we work with can help.”

“Really? That’s your plan?” It sounded almost like Andy was smiling.

“Until someone comes up with a better one,” Joe muttered. He felt the van drastically shift weight in the back, along with a boom like a cannon.

“What was that?” Patrick asked sleepily.

“Christmas carolers,” Joe snorted. “The same glowing demon creature we’ve been dealing with, what do you think.” He heard Patrick shift in the back, and heard the sharp change in his breathing that indicated alertness.

“We have to do something about this thing,” Patrick said, “I’m not spending the rest of my life running from this.”

“Let’s worry about the rest of our lives after we live through today, huh?” Joe suggested, feeling his temper flare up again.

“How can it follow us? What are you going?” Patrick asked.

“Seventy, during a snowstorm, thanks for asking,” Joe growled. “Next time you can lead the car chase.”

“It’s not in a car?” Patrick sounded horrified.

“Electricity travels pretty fast.” Andy said, deadpan.

Joe, who enjoyed Grand Theft Auto on a quiet afternoon in the apartment, was quickly discovering that he didn’t like real life car chases, which were much more stressful, and didn’t have a respawn option. GTA also didn’t usually involve two people in the backseat casting him terrified glances, or his best friend sleeping in the death seat next to him. There was a lot more responsibility.

He chalked it up to pure adrenaline that he was able to brake in a dry patch of the highway, sending the Green Man flying, get back up to seventy five, and slip around the creature in less than thirty seconds without getting them killed. Though honestly, Joe might have been more impressed by Pete, with his ability to sleep through all of this. Then again, he had woken Joe up when the creature was in their room, and Joe couldn’t confirm whether or not Pete had ever actually fallen asleep. He sort of doubted it.

Seconds ahead of them, however, the Green Man appeared, lying down in the road. There was no time for Joe to stop or swerve, so merely swore as they drove directly over it. A rattling, thumping sound came from beneath his feet, and Joe bit his lip, his face contorting in fear.

“What, what’s wrong?” Patrick asked, but Joe just shook his head.

The radio roared to life, the static crackling like laughter for just a moment before “What a Wonderful World” started blasting out of it.

“I see trees of green,” the radio crooned, while the dashboard started going haywire. Things lit up, the turn signals flipped themselves on, windshield wiper fluid sprayed up in Joe’s field of vision, the volume jumped from barely audible to deafeningly loud, all while Joe cursed up a storm of barely intelligible cuss words.

Trying to see through the quickly freezing liquid and fix various issues going on in the car, Joe didn’t notice losing control of the steering wheel until Andy yelled his name.

“FUCKING POWER STEERING!” Joe screamed, grabbing the wheel as it began yanking itself back and forth. He tried to hold the wheel still, but it was obviously too strong for him.

“What?” Andy yelled.

“He’s gonna take us off the fucking road!” Joe screamed back, putting up enough resistance in the wheel that they stayed mostly in their lane, though it was obviously moving erratically.

Andy jumped forward, climbing into the passenger seat next to Pete, and he grabbed the wheel as well, holding it steady. Joe didn’t dare tear his eyes away from the toad, but he let out a deep breath as the van began to straighten itself out.

All of the haywire electronics stopped behaving strangely, and silence filled up the cabin. For another ten minutes, Andy kept a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, his hands tensed next to Joe’s. Patrick, whom Joe was rapidly learning couldn’t stay awake on a long car ride to save his life, literally, had curled up against the side of the van again.

“I’m afraid to ask, because I think that might jinx it.” Andy said, not moving his hands.

“Don’t then.” Joe said curtly, though he could feel himself filling up with relief.

Eventually, Andy dropped his hands, and they sat reveling in the silence for a few minutes, but before Joe had really convinced himself it was really over, the radio came to life again.

“Very good,” the static-y voice crackled. “Still, we can’t leave you entirely without punishment. I’ll put you in your own god’s hands,” it laughed, and then fell silent again.

“Grab the wheel,” Joe said, staring ahead with intent focus. Andy obediently took hold of it with Joe, but nothing happened for a minute.

Abruptly, the van began spinning out of control, and both Andy and Joe went to correct the steering wheel in the opposite direction, before realizing that the steering wheel hadn’t moved on its own accord. Their combined strength over corrected the turn, and they were sent spinning across the black ice, flying off the road, and slamming into the woods that lined the highway.

Time skipped for Joe, like a scratched record, and the next thing he could take proper account of was the biting cold air that was streaming into the van.

The next thing he noticed was the rusty scent of blood filling the air, and he spun around to see who was hurt. It was his side of the van that had gotten crushed, but with the luck they seemed to have, Patrick could have gotten decapitated by . Glass was strewn all over the back seat, and Patrick had a nasty looking cut on his face, but he didn’t look mortally injured for once. Pete, finally sitting up, didn’t look seriously injured either, though both he and Patrick looked terrified.

“What happened?” Pete asked with a rattling breath. Joe let out a short bark of laughter, and ran his hand through his hair. Tiny shards of glass fell from his curls, sprinkling his lap with sparkling glass.

It seemed his laugh was contagious, because soon all four of them were doubled over with breathless laughter, the kind of laughter only achieved by the euphoria of surviving a near death experience.

“Fucking hell!” Andy laughed. “All that shit and we got taken out by ice!”

“I told you!” Joe gasped out between laughs, “I fucking told you the roads were just as dangerous as that thing!”

“Oh my god!” Patrick laughed, covering his mouth as he leaned back. “Oh my fucking god.” He seemed to snap to attention suddenly, leaning forward and staring at Pete. “Dude, are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Pete laughed, “But we’re alive,”

“It hit my side of the car.” Joe said, sounding annoyed, but not feeling much of anything but euphoria still.

“Pete, do you have your phone?” Andy asked, still grinning. Pete laughed louder.

“What?” Joe asked.

“It was in the driver’s side door!” Pete cackled, and Joe was captured by another fit of laughter.

It didn’t take long before someone pulled over to help them, really. The snow had mostly stopped falling, so more people were on the road, and in any case, the van was such a wreck. A literal wreck, as Joe would remind them, almost tearful from laughter.

The camera, Pete pointed out, had survived, and he took a lot of pleasure in filming the inside and out of the van while they waited for someone to drive them to a nearby town to get in someplace warm.

It took until they were  in a shitty diner in some nowhere town called Lamar for Joe to notice the slick blood coating Andy’s left arm.

“Holy shit,” Joe exclaimed, pulling Andy’s arm up to his face for inspection. He wiped some of the blood off, but the huge gash on his forearm already looked a couple days old. “How’d you get cut up?” he asked.

Andy shrugged. “Your window caved in.” he said. Joe gave him a dubious look.

“You nobly sacrificed your arm to save my neck?” he asked, and Andy smiled sheepishly.

“No,” he chuckled. “Might’ve nicked your collar, but it wouldn’t have been dangerous.”

Joe smiled at him then, a genuine, hundred watt smile.

“I still don’t trust you,” he chuckled.

“I didn’t expect it.” Andy said, but he smiled too. Pete called them over to the table to reenact the battle with the Green Man for some other friend that had showed up to save them, and the two of them joined them, recalling the morning with animation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for the weirdly huge popularity boost this past month! It's definitely inspired me to work on this faster. Firstly, I'm sorry this chapter is shorter than most, but my New Year's resolution is to post something here more often. I want to say once a month, but we'll see. I'm known for overly optimistic resolutions. That said, the rest of the season is almost all gonna be plot centric, and I actually have an outline for everything from here on out in this season! You might notice that there are only four episodes left, so I've got a lot to tie up! The tentative titles for the rest of the season are Girl at the Rock Show, Early Sunsets Over Monroeville, Rock 'n Roll High School, and Dead on Arrival, so make of that what you will. For more The High Way to Hell action, check on the THWTH drabbles work, just for bonus stuff.  
> Sorry for all that rambling, I hope everyone's having a good Holiday  
> Chapter title by The Beastie Boys (and also the world's vaguest star trek reference)


	7. From Where Its Roots Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band plays a pretty small show in Wilmette, Pete and Joe's hometown. Andy meets a girl, the venue owner is great- but Wilmette has a history, and there are skeletons in every closet.

Andy was possibly never going to be used to Pete Wentz, and mostly he just accepted that fact. Despite being sports star/rock star/casanova/Don Juan and despite being The Pete Wentz, he was most excited for a show they were playing in Wilmette.

“My parents are gonna be there!” he would say, beaming. His excitement was weirdly contagious, even though it was a tiny show in a post office, for some reason that Andy couldn’t figure out.

So with an unusual amount of energy, even for Pete, they were setting up for a show, in an post office with a hotel on the second floor, in downtown Wilmette. Joe and Pete’s high school was just a few minutes away. Pete looked like he was vibrating out of his own skin, and Joe kept looking around the venue furtively.

“You okay?” Andy overheard Patrick asking him.

“No,” Joe replied, sulky, “I think half my high school is going to show up, how would you be?”

Andy, who had no connection to Wilmette, was the only one utterly unaffected by the crowd they were playing for. He was mostly bored, hanging back and triple checking all the chords connecting to their amps while the other three walked around, having a meet and greet with old friends. Even Patrick knew more people here, Andy had no idea why. He was from another Chicago suburb, with an equally stupid name, but he seemed friendly with everyone.

Performing at midday in a post office hardly felt like a real rock show to Andy, so he was more than happy when a girl walked over to him, tossing wildly curly bright red hair over her shoulder.

“You look bored,” she said, and he chuckled a bit, rolling his eyes.

“What gave you that impression?” he asked, turning to look into her eyes. She was strikingly beautiful, and he felt suddenly self conscious as she stared him up and down with an appraising look.

“You in the band?” she asked, rather than answering his question.

“I’m the drummer,” Andy said, puffing out his chest slightly. She was shorter than him, but he still wished suddenly that he were taller.

“Yeah?” Her lips quirked up into a smile. “My friend told me to listen to you guys, and I saw this show listed online. This is a show, right? You guys ever gonna play?”

“Doubtful,” Andy muttered, catching sight of the others, each in a fervent conversation with someone. “They act as though Wilmette isn’t just a few minutes away.”

“You guys come from here?” she asked.

“I’m not,” Andy said. “I’m from up in Wisconsin. It’s- well, you probably haven’t heard of the town, but it’s near Milwaukee.”

“Really?” she asked, leaning in. “I think I’ve got relatives up in Milwaukee. Pretty cool city, huh?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling fondly in spite of himself. “It’s not as big as Chicago; it’s less cramped. Surprisingly socialist, not that anyone down here pays any attention.” He paused, but she still looked interested, so he continued. “Honestly, people around here act so high and mighty about their politics but the only reason Illinois is a blue state is because of Chicago, and I really don’t think anyone has the right to brag about Chicago’s politics, considering the sheer amount of criminal politicians it’s churned out. And it’s only that one city that prevents the whole damn state from basically being part of the Confederate states. But Wisconsin’s actually fairly liberal. And the cities are the kind of cities that kids in the middle of nowhere think cities are like, you know? With tall buildings and wide roads and even at five PM on a Friday there’s hardly any traffic, and-” he cut himself off, feeling color rise up in his cheeks. Andy hadn’t realized how homesick he must have been feeling, and he was suddenly bashful of venting about it to a stranger. The girl, however, didn’t seem to mind.

“Homesick?” she guessed.

“More than I thought, apparently.” Andy agreed with a wince. She laughed lightly, a musical sounding laugh, and stuck out her hand.

“I’m Andrea,” she said, and Andy started laughing instead of taking her hand.

“What?” she asked, hand still held out stubbornly.

“I’m Andy,” he said, shaking her hand. She had a very firm grip, shaking his hand with more resolute force than the executives the band had had to meet with a few weeks before. She chuckled a bit as well.

“Short for Andrea?” she teased.

“Short for Andrew,” he replied, and she let out another peal of laughter.

“Somehow that’s funnier,” she said, smiling fondly at him. “Wisconsin is socialist?” she prompted, actually looking eager, rather than just paying attention out of politeness.

“You can’t honestly want me to talk about state politics,” Andy said dubiously.

“Tell me how Wisconsin is socialist,” she demanded. She stared up at him with an intense look on her face, knocking the wind out of Andy’s chest.

“Um.” He stared into her eyes, somewhat mesmerized, but shook his head just slightly, trying to move on. “Um, well, you know the Green Bay Packers? Like, the football team? They’re pretty much the only team in the country that hasn’t been bought out by big business, they’re actually supported by small businesses and individual people, and they’re one of the most successful teams in the midwest, so probably any team in the NFL could do the same thing, but they don’t, because the entire corporation is built on-”

“Andy!” Pete clapped a hand on his shoulder, appearing with a Cheshire Cat grin plastered onto his face. “Don’t bore your new friend to death, we get it. Wisconsin good. Chicago bad.”

“I found it fascinating,” Andrea said coolly. “I’m guessing you were born and raised here?”

“This level of defensiveness only comes with Chicago natives.” Pete agreed, still smiling broadly.

“Leave,” Andy demanded, glaring at Pete.

“Actually, I came over because we’re going on stage, pal,” Pete said. “Be up there in five.” He clapped him on the shoulder again before walking up behind the makeshift stage, which was just a sectioned off area of the post office.

“Here,” Andrea said, pulling Andy’s arm over towards her. Her skin felt cool to the touch, and rough as though it were calloused. With her other hand she grabbed a Sharpie from her pocket, yanking the cap off with her teeth, and she wrote down a number.

“You free tonight?” she asked, releasing his arm.

“Tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, and he couldn’t help noticing the way her curls bounced in the mid afternoon light coming through the window. “After the show sometime.”

“I doubt I’m doing anything that important,” he said, and she beamed at him. He grinned back at her, and moved to join his band onstage, but dropped his phone.

“Shit, I-”

“Here, don’t worry-”

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t-”

“Wait-!” Andrea laughed, handing the phone to him, blushing after the two of them had fumbled on the ground for what felt to Andy like an eternity. “See you, Andy,” she said, walking away with a spring in her step that made her hair bounce.

It wasn’t the world’s most interesting show. His mind was elsewhere, but so was everyone else’s. They couldn’t be as sloppy because no one there was drunk, and yet the sound was almost lethargic, to Andy’s ears at least. Still, they weren’t bad. They were playing so often these days that they were always alright. Pete had said, “We’re kind of like sex. Or pizza! Even when it’s bad, it’s still good!” In a lot of ways, he was right. And kids at this show even knew the words to the songs, which, though it was pretty standard now, never ceased to baffle Andy.

As friendly as he felt towards his bandmates mid-show, the second they got offstage, Andy had every intention of ditching them to go and call Andrea, and they could go hang out with old high school friends and Pete and Jeanae could get back together again for all he cared. But while they were loading up instruments into the shiny new black van that hadn’t been destroyed, someone called out to them.

“Hello there, boys!” someone called, and Andy turned and ended up nearly face to face with a portly man, wearing a bowler hat of all things. He had the sort of moustache that only appears on television villains, and Andy was too surprised to reply at first.

“Hey?” Joe said, slamming the back of the van shut. He was sweating through the thin shirt, even though it was barely above freezing outside. Patrick was too, but at this point, Andy was pretty sure that Patrick would be sweating in an ice age.

“Dr. Henry Howard,” he introduced himself pompously, taking off his hat and clasping it to his chest. “But just call me Henry. I own the building you just performed in.”

“Oh,” Patrick said, and Andy could practically see his overwhelming urge to be polite kick in. “Thank you for letting us use the space!”

“Not at all,” Henry replied, jamming the hat back on his head. “I heard your music from my office upstairs, and I was quite impressed. Could I take you all out to dinner, on me?”

Andy wanted to say no, thanks, that he was busy, but Pete jumped forward, saying: “Of course, we’d love to!” Still, there was an odd, suspicious look on Pete’s face, probably imperceptible to strangers.

“Splendid!” Henry exclaimed, and Andy rubbed the number scrawled across his arm, annoyed. “You can leave your van here for a bit. Come with me,” he demanded, gesturing over to the post office with his head.

Henry led the group of them through the post office again, where almost everyone had left pretty quickly. Andy kept a look out for Andrea, but didn’t see her anywhere, and fought the urge to be disappointed. He would have to call her up after dinner, he figured, and he was still lost in thought when Henry held open the front door for them, and they saw a limo waiting beside the curb.

Andy walked straight into Pete’s back, and saw that he and Joe were staring almost apprehensively at the limo.

“Is this your car?” Pete asked, a tight strain in his voice.

“Indeed,” Henry agreed. “I loathe driving for myself, and if you keep someone full time, it costs less than what I would have to pay for taxi fare. Go on now, get in,” he ordered, nudging Pete on the back. All of them got in the back of the limo, and before Henry got in, Pete turned to them, his eyes gleaming.

“This is-” he began.

“Surreal,” Patrick agreed.

“Christ, it’s just a car,” Andy muttered, leaning back in his seat. Henry got in after them, rapping on the window and giving the name of a restaurant to his driver that made Pete and Joe light up.

Even though Andy was initially less enthralled, Henry was entertaining. He wasn’t the stuffiest man Andy had ever met, and he regaled them all with tales of how he had purchased an old post office and converted the top floor into a hotel, and the bottom into a performance space.

“Lots of use for good, old buildings like mine. They don’t make ‘em like that anymore,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. Everytime he spoke, Andy got the impression that he’d be happier with a cigar in his mouth.

“Why do you have a hotel and a post office if you’re a doctor?” Joe asked.

“Now boys,” he gave a jovial laugh. “As artists, you more than anyone should understand that one shouldn’t limit themselves to merely one professional endeavor in life.”

“I’m most of the way to my history degree,” Andy snorted, rolling his eyes, but Henry put a hand on Andy’s shoulder, smiling broadly.

“Exactly as it should be,” he said, giving Andy a warm grin that filled him with pride in spite of himself. The guy was rather like Pete in that Andy could feel the charisma rolling off of him.

“Your name sounds familiar,” Pete said, cocking his head with a questioning look. “Dr Henry Howard… would I know you from anywhere?”

“Certainly, Pete. You’re from around here, right? I’ve been an entrepreneur in Wilmette for quite a long time. In fact, I’m positive you’ve heard of me before.”

Andy wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed, but Pete kept staring at Henry with a puzzled expression as the conversation moved on.

Once they got to the restaurant, Henry insisted that all of them order something nice, and, with the fervor that only broke boys had, they followed his orders with ease.

“I haven’t had lobster since I was eighteen,” Pete groaned into a mouthful of food.

“I haven’t had lobster since I was born,” Patrick scoffed.

As they were eating, Henry changed the topic of conversation to their band, and to them as people, praising them lavishly and complimenting them on their musical ability, their persistence, their shiny new record deal. It didn’t take long for Andy to feel sleepy with contentedness of a huge meal (the high end restaurant had the best vegan selection he had seen in ages) and the bottomless kindness of the man paying for their food.

Long after they finished eating, they continued talking, Henry eventually ordering a milkless chocolate cake for all of them. Despite how early they had left, it was pitch black outside when Andy finally looked over at the windows facing the street.

“Shit,” he groaned, “We should be getting back.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked, “It’s only-” he paused, looking at a clock, and his face contorted in surprise. “Nine. Okay. But I mean, still…”

“No, I simply cannot let you fine fellows go on a long drive this late, and with the roads this bad,” Henry said, shaking his head.

“It’s not a long drive at all,” Pete said. “And trust me, we’ve driven in worse weather.”

“But the roads are icy,” Henry protested, “And from the sound of it, you didn’t fair too well against the ice last time, eh?” he teased, elbowing Joe lightly. “Come now, you’ve given me a fair bit of profit today, and added to my credibility as someone who runs a concert venue. Let me put you up for a night. The hotel isn’t quite finished yet, but it’s nearly there. Think of it as a favor to me. You can give it a test run.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea…” Pete said, fidgeting a bit.

“Come now,” Henry said. “It isn’t as though I’m lodging you all in my basement or anything. Just a night in a hotel.”

Andy was ready to protest with Pete, the idea seeming fairly sketchy, no matter how kind Henry was being. No, because of how kind Henry was being. He was too nice, and there had to be something wrong with him. But then Andy remembered Andrea, and if they stayed here later, he could still go and see her. And even if Henry was some sort of creeper, he and Joe were definitely strong enough to take care of it. With Andrea’s face in his mind’s eye, he spoke up.

“I think it’s a great idea.” Andy said. “Just for tonight, right?”

Henry smiled fondly at him.

“I’m glad you agree,” he said.

“I still…” Pete trailed off, but Joe and Patrick agreed, and Henry pulled out his phone, calling his driver back around.

They drove back to the post office, still chattering animatedly. Henry had the benefit of being older enough that they felt more proud of his remarks then someone their age, so in general, they drank up his compliments. Andy moved over closer to Pete after a moment, and barely audibly, spoke.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, drowned out by Henry and Joe’s conversation.

“I don’t think anything,” Pete said, looking puzzled, “His aura looks fine, it’s just…”

“Just what?” Andy prompted.

“It almost looks like there’s something underneath it,” Pete said.

“Is that not normal?” Andy asked.

“Well, not really.” Pete said. “I mean, Patrick has sort of the same issue. Some people have more than one layer of aura, just not many, and it makes me uneasy because I can only see one layer.”

“It doesn’t make you uneasy with Patrick?” Andy asked, and Pete laughed aloud.

“He couldn’t make a mosquito feel uneasy.” Pete said, and Andy half shrugged in agreement. “Anyway, it’s probably nothing. I just don’t like being able to read him.”

“How does it feel to not be omnipotent for once?” Andy taunted, and Pete rolled his eyes.

They got out at the post office, but Henry ushered them into an elevator in the foyer.

“I’ll show you to your rooms,” he said, beaming at them.

“I, uh, think I might head out for a bit. Would it be alright if I came back later?” Andy asked. Henry turned to Andy, and his eyes seemed to flash angrily for a second, but Andy must have imagined it, for soon he was smiling broadly again.

“Of course!” he laughed. “I think you’re a bit old for a curfew. Just let me take you to your room first, that way you know where you’ll be for the night.”

“Sure,” Andy agreed. Patrick turned to Andy, raising his eyebrows, and Andy rolled his eyes dramatically.

The elevator was spacy, but it seemed old, with iron gates that Henry had to pull across the front, straining with the weight. The interior of the elevator seemed to clash with the post office, but it matched the second floor, Andy could tell as soon as the doors opened. The heavy carpets and wallpaper were an old pattern, crowded and vaguely floral in a design that reminded him of something victorian. The entire hallway that Henry opened the doors to matched it exactly.

The hallway seemed to stretch down almost for eternity, and Andy could barely see the end, so he assumed it must look rather intimidating to Pete and Patrick, who definitely couldn’t. While it looked initially dark, Henry flipped a light switch, and the hall was illuminated by dusty glass balls attached to the walls everywhere, making it look bright and almost cheery.

“It’s a little old fashioned,” Henry admitted. “But I think it has a certain charm that people will like. Now,” he clapped his hands together, “Andy, why don’t I get you your room first, since you planned on going out.”

Against his intentions, Andy grinned in disbelief, turning to meet anyone else’s eyes in the band, and they were all looking in a similar state of glee.

“Sorry, were we all in separate rooms?” Patrick asked, trying to keep the excitement in his voice toned down, but Andy could tell. Maybe he knew them all too well.

“Well, certainly,” Henry said, waving his hand a bit. “They’re mostly single rooms anyway.”

Andy grinned wider, as he was sure everyone else did. It was a small thing, stupid really, but after being stuck in a tiny apartment with the same three people for months on end, any chance he got to not spend the night with them was an assurance of a great night’s sleep.

Henry led them down the hall a little ways, halfway between the elevator and the corner, and then turned sharply, swinging a large wooden door open.

“Andy,” he said, gesturing inside. “Room 205.”  The room was luxurious, if somewhat old fashioned, but Andy lit up. The sight of the huge old bed made him want to immediately collapse in it and go straight to sleep, but he kept Andrea in mind, trying to ignore the sleepy sensation. Two large windows overlooked the front of the building, which was slightly confusing, as he thought they should be on the side, but he shook it off, deciding he must not be paying much attention to the floor plan.

“Thanks,” Andy said, stepping inside. Henry followed, along with, to Andy’s annoyance, his band.

“Wow,” Patrick said, his voice purposefully polite. Andy sat on the edge of the bed, seeing that the sheets were cleaner than he expected. He wasn’t sure why he would have expected anything less, but it seemed as though they would have been dusty.

“Well, we’ll let you settle in for a bit,” Henry said, herding the band out of the door, “Sleep well, Andy.” He winked at Andy, and pulled the door shut with a tight click.

In the sudden heavy silence, Andy lay back on the bed, releasing a deep breath he didn’t think he had been holding, and pulled out his cell phone. He plugged in Andrea’s number, and texted “hey, andy from the show, u busy?”

However, when he pressed send, nothing happened. His phone flashed “No Signal”, which struck him as odd for the middle of downtown, even if it wasn’t exactly Chicago. He walked closer to the window, and still there was no signal.

After a few minutes, Andy decided he would just try his luck outside of the hotel, maybe walk down the street a ways, but when he grabbed the doorknob, it wouldn’t turn. He jiggled it, softly at first, then harder. He put all his strength into breaking whatever stickiness was in the mechanics, and upon realizing that he couldn’t break it with his superior strength, the realization dawned on him that the door was more than sticky, it was locked. Dead bolted, even.

Andy kicked the door as hard as he could, then reeled back in pain. The door that appeared to be made of wood was, in fact, made with a metal center.

Panic creeping up on him, he tested his foot against the wall and heard a clang. He ripped off a part of the wallpaper, and saw new, shiny steel underneath.

In the furthest upper corner of the room, a small jet of blue flame began hissing, licking at the wallpaper.

“Hey!” Andy yelled, kicking the door again. “Hey, what the fuck is this?! Let me out of here!”

Another jet of flame started in another corner, and two more by the door where he was standing, making him draw back in fear, clutching his hands to his chest. Lots of flames turned on, and the wallpaper, the curtains, the carpet, it was all turning into an impossibly hot blaze around him.

And Andy began to scream.

***

“You seem excited about the room situation, if I might say so,” Henry said with a chuckle as he walked the other three down the hall.

“We share an apartment,” Joe said in a long suffering voice. Pete let out a bark of laughter, trying to act normal.

It wasn't as though he had any reason to find Henry suspicious, but he couldn't help feeling uneasy around him. His aura, as he had explained to Andy, looked perfectly normal and friendly, but it looked as though something dark was moving under it. Like the woman behind bars in a story he had read in high school, The Yellow Wallpaper. Normal on the surface, but shadowed underneath. Not that he could explain that to anyone else. And he had seen it before in people, but Henry just unsettled him. He also felt very old, for reasons Pete couldn't explain. Almost as though he were stale.

The problem with having a sixth sense, he thought to himself, was often just that there were no adjectives made to describe the things he felt. So he had to get creative with metaphors, just to explain what it felt like to see the dark color of guilt pooling up in a girl’s aura when you mention fidelity. Or feel someone next to you go from sad to angry. And it made it so there was no logical way to tell his band why he was upset, so maybe it was better to just not say anything.

“Do you not like sharing the space?” Henry asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“They’re loud,” Joe said, and Henry laughed again.

“Well, you needn't worry about that here,” he promised. “All the rooms are soundproofed, very cleverly, if I might add.”

“That’ll be a draw for guests,” Joe said, smirking.

“I imagine it will,” Henry agreed. Still in the same hall, he yanked another door open. “237,” he announced. “Joe, this can be your room, I think.”

Joe walked in, standing still in the center of the room for a second, looking out the window at the dark city outside, before turning around, looking puzzled.

“Why are our rooms so spaced out?” he asked. Henry shrugged.

“Some of them aren't quite finished yet,” he admitted. “Is this alright?” His fingers fidgeted next to the light switch, flipping one of them. A fan turned on in the room’s bathroom.

“Is that…?” Joe looked inquisitively at Henry, who said: “Dehumidifier, you can turn it off if you like.”

“Okay,” Joe said. Pete waved to him, and Joe exchanged a knowing look with him. Henry exited the room first, and Pete mouthed “Be back soon” at him. Joe nodded as the door swung shut.

“And then there were two, eh?” Henry said, and they both nodded. The walk through the halls got significantly quieter, Patrick too polite around strangers to talk the way Joe had, and Pete still feeling uncertain. It felt like waking up so early that the sun hadn't risen yet, boot camp style, and wasn't at all pleasant.

In the sudden silence, Henry began turning sharp corners, making multiple turns in the identical hallways.

“Don’t know if I’ll be able to find my way back out,” Patrick laughed. He was only joking, but the thought had occurred to Pete too.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s really not that difficult,” Henry promised. “I designed these halls so that it’s fairly intuitive once you start walking, trust me.”

“You designed these halls?” Pete asked.

“Certainly,” Henry replied, his voice curt.

“Aren't you a doctor?” Pete asked.

“Among other things.” Henry replied with a wink, a knowing sort of wink that seemed to promise he understood you well. It wasn't the sort of wink Pete was inclined to trust, having met enough people in his lifetime to know better, and he could feel a frown growing on his face.

“Ah, here we are,” Henry said, turning down into a tiny dead end hallway, and opening the door at the very end. “215. This will be all yours, Patrick.”

Patrick smiled at Henry, and took a step into the room, turning on the light, but he froze upon entry, turning back around.

“Um, not to be rude,” he began, his eyebrows furrowed, “But is there a reason there are no windows in here?”

Pete saw the instant that the happy, charismatic smile slid off of Henry’s faced, replaced with a mocking sneer. The aura on him looked stale and thin, and it wasn't moving, wasn't alive, wasn't real, only holding back the shadows beneath it.

“And here I got the impression that you were the stupid one,” he sighed, and before Pete could get his wits about him, Henry shoved Patrick into the room.

“What the fuck?!” Pete yelled, grabbing Henry’s arm, but with much more powerful arms than Pete, he knocked Pete down to the floor with one swing, and began to pull the door shut.

“PETE!” Patrick screamed, throwing himself at the door, but it shut before he could get to it. Pet could hear the frantic and muffled pounding on the door, and Henry smiled at him. Pete stood up, his fear melting and giving way to anger.

“Let him out,” he demanded, his voice low, powerful. Henry’s hand twitched toward the door, almost beyond his control from the influence behind Pete’s words, but exercising what must have been an awful lot of willpower, he instead flipped a light switch in the hall.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” he said. He gave Pete a thin smile, and said “My my my, he’s quite a fighter, isn't he? That door is made of some very heavy metals, and-”

The door shook then, the slamming sounds very muffled, but the door itself quivering. Henry let out a loud peal of laughter, so happy and purely excited.

“Oh, he’s going to be fun to watch!” he cried excitedly.

“LET HIM OUT!” Pete demanded, slipping into charmspeak, the hall glowing gold with the light from his eyes. Henry jerked towards the door but did nothing.

“I… wouldn't,” he said, looking confused as to why he would want to.

“Let him out NOW!” Pete yelled, his voice cracking slightly.

“Even if I did want to,” Henry said brusquely, “I couldn't. The door won’t open now for safety reasons.”

“You want to tell me why,” Pete said. Pete’s chest was heaving like he had run a marathon, his fingers twitching beyond his control.

“It’s a precaution so that the gas doesn't get anywhere else in the house,” he said. Pete felt his muscles crack and stiffen and turn to ice.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“The methane gas, it could pose a threat if it escaped,” Henry said, still under Pete’s spell. “Within the next hour or so there’ll be enough pumped in there for him to asphyxiate, but I have to make sure none of it gets out because it’s flammable.”

Pete stood completely still for a moment, then leapt on Henry, kicking and scratching and snarling.

“Let him out let him out let him OUT!” Pete screamed, dragging his nails down Henry’s face, pulling his hair, digging his knee into the man’s chest, all while trying to get past him to flip the light switch back off. To his anger, Henry began laughing.

“Oh Pete, are you going to kill me?” he laughed.

“Only if you’re lucky!” Pete growled, his teeth bared.

“That’s cute,” Henry said, and he wrapped his hands around Pete’s wrists, holding them like cuffs. He was strong, way too strong, and as much as Pete struggled, he couldn't escape.

“Come on now,” Henry demanded, straightening himself up, and beginning to drag Pete down the hallway, away from the door that Patrick was behind. Patrick. Pete dug his feet into the thick carpet as best he could, using all of his strength to keep Henry from walking away.

“Pete, you may as well stop making this difficult,” Henry sighed, yanking Pete forward a few feet.

“PATRICK!” Pete screamed, pulling against Henry.

“Oh will you quit it?” Henry snapped. “Would it help if I told you that you are going to be in much more pain than him? You’re too much trouble for a room, I’ll have to take you straight to the basement. And you won’t be worth much if you break a bone on the way.”

Suddenly, Pete understood. Comprehension filled him up like lead as he stared up at the man.

“Dr Henry Howard Holmes.” Pete breathed, and the man smiled at him.

“I told you I've been an entrepreneur in Wilmette for a very, very long time, didn't I?” Holmes asked, his features cold. “And I did hope you would realize who I was.”

“Where are Joe and Andy?” Pete asked. Holmes made to yank him forward again, and Pete hooked his foot on a table latched to the ground. Holmes sighed.

“Andy is probably already dead,” he said. “I put him in the fire room. Joe is waiting for us downstairs.”

Pete nodded, then, steeling himself, he slammed his head into Holmes’ face as hard as he could, and in the moment’s lapse while Holmes was in pain, Pete bolted. He heard the furious screams echo behind him.

“You can run, Pete, but you’ll never get out!”

Pete ran as fast as he could, quickly rounding three corners, trying not to continue down a straight hall for too long. When his lungs were burning, he collapsed on the ground, his face in his hands, breath rattling in and out of his chest, raking against his ribs. When Holmes did creep up on him after a few minutes, his breaths grew shorter and quicker, becoming sobs as he held his hands up to his face, tears dribbling out. He didn't know what to do.

And of course, now that he knew, it all made sense. Pete was raised in Wilmette, so of course he knew the story of HH Holmes, “America’s First Serial Killer”. He had a bought a drugstore in downtown Wilmette, converted the second floor into a hotel, soon to be called his “murder castle”. It was designed like a maze filled with death traps, and during the World’s Fair, he invited hundreds of people to stay there. Some of the rooms were designed to shoot flames out of the walls until everything in them was incinerated, and all that remained with the steel shell. Some rooms were gas chambers, built with peep holes so that Holmes could watch them die. All the rooms had shoots leading to the basement, where he would run experiments on the corpses, dissolve the meat off of them in vats of acid, and sell the skeletons to universities and medical centers. Caught by the police for insurance fraud.

Pete didn't just know the story, he knew it WELL. He told it to his little sister and brother to scare them late at night. He read all the books.

But this wasn't HH Holmes, because HH Holmes was dead. Long dead. Dead before the year 1900. And this man looked nothing like him. It could be, Pete reasoned, an impersonator, crazy enough to want to be like Holmes. Not that it really mattered. What mattered was that Pete was locked in the murder castle, alone.

And Patrick was dying.

Pete let out a bubble of hysterical laughter. Everyone in his band was probably dying. Andy might already be dead. And if this hotel was anything like the original murder castle, the halls were built to be as confusing as possible, and Pete could probably starve to death faster than he could find his way out.

In a burst of inspiration, Pete pulled out his cell phone, only to see that he had no service in the hotel. He threw his phone at the wall, and watched it shatter as it hit the metal wall. Another sob burst out of Pete’s throat, and he shook his head, blinking away tears. He had to pull himself together, find the others, call the police.

Shakily, he stood up, leaving the shards of his cell phone behind. Patrick’s room was room 215, and Pete followed a long hallway for quite a ways, watching the numbers go down from 277, 275, 273, and so on normally until he hit a certain point where they changed to 296, 298, 298a. Pete stared at the numbers, with no indication for them changing.

“Bastard,” Pete whispered under his breath. he ran around the corner to see 201, 216, 300. He felt a sob rising in his chest, threatening to burst out, but he breathed deeply. He wished he hadn't smashed his cell phone, because he didn't know what time it was. When did the hour it took for the gas to kill Patrick end? When did it start? It didn't feel like it had been an hour, but what did Pete know? His shallow inhalations were making him feel light headed, but he didn't know where to go or what to do. He covered his mouth, not sure if he was going to cry again and not wanting to make any noise that could alert Holmes to his location.

Pete pressed his fingers into his eyelids until it hurt, and then a little harder, but he wiped his eyes, stood up a little straighter, and slammed his hand against the left wall. He started walking, hand pressed into the wall paper, turning left every corner, and never taking his left hand off the wall. Labyrinth style, he thought. If he just followed the left wall far enough, it would take him somewhere.

This new strategy felt painstakingly slow, staring at each number, but at least he knew he was getting somewhere. He hoped. It felt like it had been hours of half jogging, as fast as he could endure but not fast enough (not nearly fast enough far too fucking slow he would never get there). Eventually, he saw a room number he recognized: 205.

Pete ripped the door open- and instantly wished he hadn't.

He immediately turned around and heaved onto the ground. The beautiful hotel room was now entirely black, filled with a layer of ash and singed metal walls. Pete tried not to fall over, but his knees buckled anyway, hand pressed over his mouth. The room was still smoking behind him.

But he had a time limit, and Pete slammed the door shut, putting his left hand on the wall again and continuing forward. He started opening all the doors in the hall, knowing Joe’s wasn't too far away. All of them looked untouched, save one. 237.

Inside, the bed had been slept in, covers pulled back, but there was no sign of Joe. Pete bit his lip, but at least it wasn't the gruesome scene he had found in Andy’s room.

He went back to the left wall, and kept his eyes peeled for 215. He knew it was only a few turns away from this hall, and though he had gotten further with the left wall, he wondered if he should just try and run it from memory. But he stuck to the left wall, figuring it was safer than the chance of getting too lost to ever find him.

Pete continued down the hall for a long time, and as soon as he saw the number ‘215’, his heart jumped into his throat, but he realized he hadn’t been paying the halls much attention. The numbers were not connected to doors anymore. There was nothing next to the number 215 but a small circle breaking the pattern of wallpaper. His heart began sinking rapidly as he realized what it was. A peephole. Because Holmes was a scientist obsessed with death, he made peepholes to watch his guests die. Filled with trepidation, Pete stepped up to the peep hole, and looked into it.

Pete could see the majority of the room from his vantage point, and it looked just like an ordinary room. The bed was untouched. Nothing seemed to be disturbed at first glance, but on a closer look, he could see a chunk of the wallpaper was ripped off, and there was a figure slumped against the door, head hanging down low over his chest. Pete’s breath caught as he stared at Patrick, filled with disbelief because Patrick couldn’t be dead- and he saw Patrick’s fist raise weakly and slam into the door.

Pete couldn’t hear from his vantage point, but he saw Patrick’s mouth move. Even there, lying on the ground half dead, he still looked annoyed as he said Pete’s name, because that was definitely Pete’s name, he’d watched Patrick say it enough times to know that much at least. And seeing this, Pete was certain that Patrick had seen him, had noticed him, but Patrick closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the door, crying frustrated tears. There was a fire extinguisher next to Patrick, and from the dented and beaten up look of it, it seemed he had been trying to break down the metal for a long time.

Patrick stood up shakily as Pete watched, grabbing the fire extinguisher and slamming it down into the doorknob, then promptly falling down from the overexertion. Patrick said something else on the ground, a full sentence, and Pete wanted to scream that he should have known better than to waste his breath on talking to himself, but he didn't.

He needed to find a weak spot, Pete thought, and the weakest spot in the whole room was probably the peephole, actually. Pete spun around in a fast look to see if he could find anything, but there was nothing in the halls at all, unlike ordinary hotels with tables and decorative vases. Patrick was the only one that had any chance of breaking the glass, and Pete had no way of getting his attention. He hit the wall with his open palms, wishing he could get Patrick to just turn, notice the dimple in the wall, something.

“Dammit, come on,” Pete whispered, staring at Patrick pleadingly. He was certain that the fire extinguisher could break the glass of the peephole, but if nothing happened he would have to watch Patrick die.

“Come on, come on, notice me,” Pete pleaded, then tried to focus. He knew charm speak, knew it only worked if the other person could hear it, and worked best with eye contact. Screaming would only attract Holmes, but he had to do something.

“ _Patrick, notice me_!” Pete said, his voice resonating deeply, echoing on levels even he didn't quite understand. Patrick’s head rolled slightly, but he didn't stand up. Pete kicked the wall again, closed his eyes, and refocused.

“ _PATRICK STUMP, NOTICE ME NOW_!” Pete screamed. It echoed physically through the walls as well as deeper, through the air itself. Pete waited, his hands clenched, and Patrick looked up, confused, and staring right at him.

“YES!” Pete yelled, not caring it Holmes heard. “Yes yes yes! Over here!”

Patrick stood up, his legs shaking, but he stumbled across the room, and inspected the peep hole. He was right up in Pete’s face, though he didn't know it. His eyes were red, but he looked determined, and he bit his bottom lip. Then, without warning, he leaned backwards, and Pete jumped away from the peep hole right as Patrick swung the fire extinguisher at it.

Glass fell out of the wall, and the sound of Patrick’s heavy breathing filled the hall as he pressed his mouth up against the whole, taking in heavy, rattling breaths.

“Patrick!” Pete gasped. He ran up to the hole again, and peered in to see Patrick leaning over and coughing.

“You-” Patrick began, cut off by a coughing fit. The heavy smell of methane gas that Pete remembered from the gas stove at his parents house assailed him, and he could only imagine how bad it was inside the room. Patrick was still coughing, but he clawed his way up the wall and took a deep breath out of the tiny hole again.

“I think-” Patrick was cut off by coughs, “-I think a d-” he leaned over “-a door might have-” he inhaled deeply, his face still too pale “-might have been better-” he coughed and a splatter of blood ended up on his hand. “Pete,” he said, and there was so much inflection in just his name, so much pleading, that Pete wasn't sure what to do.

“Yeah, working on the door situation,” Pete said, running his hand through his hair. “Will you be okay for a minute?”

“Do I have another option?” Patrick asked, and Pete bolted down the hall without answering. This time he abandoned the left hand on the left wall, and just followed his instincts, which perhaps he should have done in the first case, because he made it to 215 in record time. He flipped the light switch next to the door off, and heard a click come from the handle.

“Safety precaution,” Pete muttered, and yanked the door open. Patrick was still kneeling next to the hole in the wall, and Pete ran over to him, dragging him out into the hall, where he began coughing, his chest heaving up and down, and his head resting on Pete’s lap. After a minute or so, he lifted his head up, leaning back against the wall instead and drawing in his knees, self contained. Pete sat collapsed next to him, and Patrick’s head fell on his shoulder. They sat in silence for a long few minutes, until eventually Patrick’s heart rate began to even out, and his breaths grew steady.

“So,” Patrick said, sounding exhausted. “Where are Joe and Andy?”

***

Joe was having a terrible night. And it wasn't just the forced reconnecting with everyone he thought he had left behind when he graduated a semester early, it was more tied to the fact that he was currently strapped down and being stretched to death.

He had gotten really sleepy really fast after he got to his room, actually. Really, really sleepy, despite it only being around ten at night. But he fell into the bed, shoes still on, and was out like a light.

Really, he should have seen this coming. He went to high school in this town. Everyone knew about HH Holmes. But he didn’t connect nice venue guy with the infamous MURDER CASTLE until he woke up strapped down to a table in a torture dungeon, stripped down to boxers.

The room he woke up in seemed to have popped right out of the silent movie era. The floors and walls were all made of a dark brick, arched and windowless, to add to the creepy aesthetic. There was acid bubbling in the corner with a metal chute that seemed to open up into it, a furnace in front of him, and dozens of complicated operating tables like the one he was on. And he was stuck, arms strapped down at the wrist high above his head, and his legs spread out and strapped down separately by his ankles.

It wasn’t too long after he woke up that he managed to connect the dots.

“Henry Howard,” he growled to himself, pulling at the straps. Heightened werewolf strength was, apparently, not enough to break the leather Holmes used to tie his victims down. But Joe kept trying, because he had to get out. He didn’t know that much about the killer, but he knew enough. You didn’t want to make it to the basement alive, he knew that. Holmes in his fascination with death was certain to kill Joe anyway, but not until after he experimented on him.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Joe hissed, almost in tears with frustration as he pulled harder against the bonds. They didn’t give even slightly, and he let his muscles relax and let himself drop down onto the table, staring at the ceiling. It was dark, almost moldy, and hard for Joe to believe that he had been playing a show one floor up just a few hours earlier.

Joe was mid musing, staring up and praying for someone to somehow notice he was gone, find him, stop Holmes, do something, when he heard a noise come from the darkest corner of the room, and Joe could just barely make out a human shape, so he assumed it was intended that no one could see whoever was standing there.

“Hello, Joe,” Holmes said pleasantly, stepping into the light. His smile that had seemed so charming looked oily now, slimy and unpleasant. “I’m sorry you woke up so soon, the gas I use is meant to leave people unconscious for a little bit longer. I think I’ll have to adjust my recipe.”

“You’ll understand if I’m not inclined to forgive you,” Joe said, voice still deadpan despite how terrified and helpless he felt.

“I will.” Holmes agreed. “It was a very serious breach of courtesy on my part.”

“I’m personally more upset about being tied up.” Joe growled.

“Well, it’s more comfortable if you don’t thrash around so much!” Holmes laughed. “You are trying very hard to escape, aren’t you?”

“Let me go,” Joe demanded, trying to sound intimidating, though he wasn’t sure how well it would work.

“Why should I?” Holmes asked, sounding plainly curious, not mocking. “Give me a good reason that I should let you go.”

“My parents,” Joe said, hoping his voice didn’t sound pleading. “I’m only nineteen, my- my parents they’ll notice if I go missing.”

“Ah, but how long will that take?” Holmes asked, his voice soft and sweet. “Weeks? Until after you’re supposed to have played a show states away? You don’t call home often enough for it to get traced back to me. That’s the wonderful thing about transients. Certainly they will be missed, but it takes a very long time for someone to know that they should be missed.”

Joe’s mouth was dry. “My band,” he said, hoping his throat wouldn’t actually close up. “My band will- they’ll find-” Holmes cut him off with laughter.

“My poor boy, your band is dead,” Holmes said, and Joe felt the blood in his veins turn to ice water. “Well,” he amended, putting a hand on his cheek, “I suppose Pete isn’t. Still, I’m sure he’s competent enough to kill himself, with all the traps I have set up.”

“You’re lying!” Joe yelled, feeling childish as he did and willing himself not to cry, Jesus Christ, not right now, but god, they couldn’t be dead. Not Pete, who had met Joe when they were sixteen and twenty one, or Patrick who Joe had roped into this whole mess, or even Andy, who was so fiercely protective of all of them.

“I’m afraid I’m not.” Holmes replied. “At any rate, you and I are going to have some fun, aren’t we? Have you guessed what you’ve been tied down to?”

Joe remained, silent, looking away from Holmes and gulping, fighting to keep himself, if nothing else, outwardly calm.

“Come now, Joe,” Holmes sighed, sitting on the edge of his table and patting Joe’s thigh, making him twitch from how cold Holmes’ hand was on his skin. “You grew up here. Don’t you know the stories?”

“I’m not gonna play your stupid games!” Joe spat, jerking his wrists again, still unable to free himself. Holmes smiled at him again.

“It’s a stretching rack,” he said. “Bad luck that you’re in it, honestly. But it’s designed to fit the average man, and you’re closest to the proper size. Shouldn’t take long to pull you apart, but long enough for me to observe you. Imagine Patrick in this thing, right?” He stood up, walking away from Joe, and pushing an oversized black button.

Joe heard gears shift underneath him, and felt a slight tug on the restraints, already pulled taught, as the table began to separate, pulling apart agonizingly slowly. It didn’t hurt, he could barely feel it, but as Holmes continued to grin at him, it started to feel like he was just flexing, reaching high to stretch his muscles.

“I love this century,” Holmes sighed dreamily. “i used to have to use so much muscle to rip people apart. Machines do everything for me now.”

Joe couldn’t help but feel like he was waiting for a punchline. As though, no matter how dire this may seem, it couldn’t actually be happening. This would be an awful, needlessly elaborate joke of Pete’s. That Holmes would hit the button again and apologize, say he was only playing with Joe, and his band would come out of a hidden door laughing, and Joe would be furious but still so grateful that this wasn’t real.

But Holmes pulled up a chair and sat down. And the stretching machine continued to pull. And it started to hurt, no longer a pleasant flexing sensation, now a sharp stinging. Joe tensed his muscles with all his might, trying to make it stop pulling, but it did no good. He refused to make any noise, determined to not let Holmes hear him in pain, because the sick fuck would enjoy it.

By the time that Joe was starting to feel serious pain, hoping his legs didn’t dislocate at the hip and focusing all his energy on not making noise, red lights started flashing, and an ear splitting siren began wailing.

“Dammit!” Holmes gasped, running back into the dark corner of the room. Joe saw an electronic blue light flash on, and Holmes cursed again. he ran across the room, stopping abruptly in front of Joe.

“Try not to die until I get back,” he demanded, and ran out of the room.

Once Joe heard his footsteps fade completely, and a door slam, he howled in pain, writhing against the straps that held him down, screaming. He could feel his skin pulled taut and close to tearing, all his muscles past the threshold of what they could handle, and he could barely hold back the sobs by screaming at the top of his lungs. He groaned and thrashed up and down, because he couldn’t move in any other direction.

The loud yelling made him feel somewhat better. The pain seemed to plateau, reaching a point where he could handle it for a minute or two, and his screams dissolved into pained whimpers. All he could really think, instead of a plan, was that this was going to be a really shitty way to die. He didn’t know if humans could survive without arms or legs, but he imagined it wouldn’t be fun if they could. It also wouldn’t be fun trying to explain to a hospital why he turned into a wolf, but then again, the odds of him actually getting to a hospital seemed slim to none.

Joe had closed his eyes, so he didn’t see anyone, but rather heard the too loud scuffling of sneakers squeaking on the metal pipes that hung over the vat of acid. His eyes flew open, and his head jerked over to the opening of the tube, where Andy, of all people, Andy’s face was hanging, upside down, singed red hair dangling and glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose.

“Is this water?” Andy asked in a whisper, looking down at the liquid. Joe shook his head, still not certain he could talk without screaming. But he managed to choke out “Acid!” and Andy nodded, swinging himself over the pit and landing gracefully on his feet on the ground of the dungeon, in a move no human could pull off.

Andy, to Joe’s relief, wasted no time on speeches or reactions, but sensed the urgency, and silently ran over to Joe, slammed the black button, and began pulling at the straps.

“I- I can’t get this,” he grunted, yanking as hard as he could. “Are there any blades nearby or something?”

“Blades?!” Joe squeaked, still gulping back sobs. “Blades?! Are you a vampire or not?!”

“Vampire! Right!” Andy yelled back, and occurred to Joe that Andy might also be terrified to see him tied down there. Andy leaned over Joe, half on the table himself with one hand on each wrist, and with a sense of revulsion in his stomach, Joe felt Andy’s teeth scrape against the skin of his left palm, before securing on the strap and ripping it off.

“GAAH!” Joe screamed, drawing his arm into his chest, and cradling it while Andy pulled the strap off the other wrist. He curled up, pulling his chest up to his knees and wrapping his arms around his legs while Andy pulled off the ankle straps.

“What was that?” Andy asked, wiping his mouth off and leaning on the wall in front of the stretching table.

“Stretcher,” Joe wheezed out, gulping in air like he had never breathed before. Andy cringed.

“What about you?” Joe asked after a minute. Andy gestured to the darkened and, in some places, burnt clothes he was wearing, as well as the blackened tips of his hair.

“My room caught fire,” he said mildly. Joe winced, looking him up and down.

“Aren’t you-?” he began, and Andy nodded.

“I’m slightly more flammable than the average human,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “But also slightly faster. I found a trapdoor next to the bed, heard the hollow sound when I was searching for an exit, and opened it. There was a chute, but I figured I shouldn’t just slide down it. And then there were a lot of other chutes and I tried to climb up to see if I could find anyone else.”

“Could you?” Joe asked, desperately curious.

“I could… hear Patrick,” Andy admitted. “but all the chutes were locked from my side, so that was a waste of time, and sorry I got here so late, I guess.” Joe shook his head, partially in disbelief, partially to clear his thoughts.

“No need to apologize,”  he declared. “You showed up. That was cool.”

Joe knew they should run, really, but he felt deep down tired, and his arms still ached. So instead, he swept the room with his eyes, sighing deeply.

“I don’t suppose you saw my clothes?” he asked, and Andy chuckled slightly.

“Wasn’t paying attention,” he said.

“Pete and Patrick!” Joe remembered, jumping up and wincing at the strain it put on his back. “Where are they?”

“How should I know? You mean they’re still in here?” Andy yelled, brought to attention too.

“He said he killed them, but he said he killed you too,” Joe said, and ran over to the corner of the room he had seen Holmes look at when the alarm had first gone off. A few computer monitors were dimly glowing, and Joe shook the mouse of one, shaking it to life.

“Anything?” Andy asked.

“Gimme a sec,” Joe demanded, waiting for the computer to come back. A blue box was lit up in the center of the screen, one that said “OPEN DOOR 215, GAS HAZARD”

A smile spread across Joe’s face.

“Door’s open,” he said, almost proudly. Andy grinned back at him.

“That’s fantastic!” he yelled, and clapped Joe on the back, pulling him into a tight hug. After a few seconds, Joe pulled back, uncomfortable and kind of cold with his chest pressed against the not-quite-humanly warmth, but Andy didn’t seem to notice, so full of elation as he was, and it was hard for the Joe to not get caught up in the pure joy of the moment. He never had the intention of liking Andy, much less befriending him.

“Great,” Joe agreed, “So all we need to do is get back upstairs, find the two of them, and get out of here so we can call the police.”

“That all?” Andy asked, but he was smiling. Joe nodded, and turned to the computer to see if he could find something else that could help them get out, maybe tell them where the hell room 215 even was, when he heard Andy scream from behind him.

“JOE GO GET OUT OF HERE RUN!” Andy yelled, and Joe whipped around just in time to see the heavy iron door to the furnace slam shut. He stumbled backwards, but a hand shot out and him, and before he could fight back he was wrestled back on to the table in a flurry of motion, he should have been too strong for Holmes but the man was fast, hands flying, straps being pulled taut across Joe’s joints again.

“Now,” Holmes was panting heavily. The heavy, bolted shut iron door had a small window near the top, and Joe could make out Andy’s eyes, wide with panic, as the door shuddered. “You four are being _exceptionally difficult_ , but I doubt that will last much longer. I will take care of you two and then go deal with the ones upstairs.”

Joe watched in horror as Holmes fiddled with something at the bottom of the furnace as well, before hitting the large black button again. He was starting in a somewhat stretched position this time, so it only took Joe a few seconds to feel the intense pain that came with the machine.

“The furnace should take a minute or so to kick on,” Holmes’ voice sounded as though it came from the bottom of a well, “and you’re already a bit taller, so I’m unsure at this point which of you is going to die first, but I imagine you’ll have fun watching one another.”

Andy was slamming his fists into the glass of the window, clearly screaming, but Joe couldn’t hear him, whether because of the iron door between them or the rushing of blood in his own ears.  He tried to keep his mouth shut, tried not to give Holmes the satisfaction of hearing him cry, but he kept looking up at Andy as he desperately, pleadingly punched the glass, and it was hard to refrain from becoming emotional.

As Holmes smilingly stared at him, Joe felt a sudden pain in his right shoulder, and then, upon hearing a popping sound, began screaming at the top of his lungs, loud, gasping screams as pain exploded from his shoulder but the tenseness in that side temporarily went away. His lip trembled as he stared at the unhinged joint, tears he had been trying to hold back welling over as he kept screaming. Hardly any time later, he felt the same sensation on the other side of his body, and a loud shriek clawed its way out of his chest.

Joe could hear Andy shouting now, but he looked up to just see him giving Joe a pleading look on the other side of the glass. Joe tried to give him a look that said he was sorry, that he should have trusted him, that he wished Andy didn’t have to die. Andy’s look seemed to say the exact same things, and Joe knew there was no way he could watch his friend burn alive, he couldn’t handle it.

Joe shook his head, still crying, still in so much pain, starting to feel his skin begin to tug and having no idea if he would even be coherent anymore when his skin ripped apart, or his muscles, taking his arm off.

Andy yelled something at Joe, but his voice was muffled, and Joe shook his head, blinking away tears in hopes of seeing him more clearly. Andy repeated what he said, and though it sounded muffled, miles away, he could just barely hear Andy screaming “Are you a werewolf or not?”

Joe stared into his eyes, seeing Andy’s face entirely focused on him, and heard the sound of the gas kicking on, one he recognized from childhood, and in that instant, he shifted, no focus needed.

Though the human had been stuck, the wolf’s paws were significantly smaller than human arms and legs, and the wolf easily leapt out of the straps and onto the ground, slamming its legs hard onto the stone to pop its shoulders back into place. It growled at Holmes, who was staring in disbelief with his jaw wide open.

“That’s… impossible!” he gasped, and Joe snarled, leaping forward and knocking Holmes to the ground before shifting back into a human, and wrenching open the door to the furnace. He pulled Andy out and threw the door shut, and the fires still had yet to kick on for another thirty seconds after they shut.

Holmes lay on the ground, groaning, and Andy gave Joe a weak smile, just as the door to the basement flew open.

***

Patrick wasn’t having a good day. His lungs were still burning, and he could still smell the methane gas clinging to the insides of his nostrils, as it probably would for all eternity. His chest felt too tight, and every step he took he had to fight back the urge to lean on Pete, clinging to his shirt just to stay standing. He didn’t think that he was going to pass out, like the time with the mermaids, because his breath got a little easier with each step, but he was still so tired.

Upon asking what had happened to Joe and Andy, Pete started to freak out again, tearing up as he began with “Andy’s… I mean, I think he’s... don’t know if he’s… alive,” but Patrick had refused to accept that as a truth, asking Pete to show him.

And once they entered the burnt room, the overwhelming smell of smoke filling Patrick’s lungs and making them start to burn again, they heard someone coming up in the elevator, presumably Holmes, and they had to slam the door shut and hide in there. In the last room Andy had been alive in, with hardly any breathable air left, and that was an awful experience. They almost left, but remembered that the rooms were sound proof, so they would have to wait for who knew how long.

So, stuck in the oversized tomb, pressed close to the ground to avoid the traces of smoke still rising, Pete grabbed Patrick’s hand and held on to it tightly, pressing down on his fingers and squeezing with all his might, and Patrick gripped just as tightly back, just to remind himself that they were both alive, that the two of them could get out, that they weren’t alone.

Because by far the worst part of the room Patrick had been locked in was the isolation. After that last fleeting glimpse of Pete, eyebrows furrowed, he was entirely alone. No matter how long he pounded on the door, screaming for help, screaming the names of everyone in his band, and eventually just screaming, wordless, no one ever came. Long before he couldn’t breathe from the gas, he was panicking from the isolation. All he could do was keep yelling everyone’s names, slamming on the doors, the walls, anywhere. He just wished that he weren’t dying alone, as awful as it sounded.

But then in the midst of that, after what felt like days but might only have been minutes, he heard Pete’s voice.

Patrick had no idea why he had heard Pete’s voice, he knew the rooms were soundproof, but he did. He heard him out of nowhere, and crawled towards it. Swung the fire extinguisher at the wall and heard the glass shatter, and for the first time in what could have been weeks, he could breathe.

So once the two of them were crouched together, hiding in the smoldering ruins of a hotel room, Patrick wasn’t going to be the first to grab Pete’s hand, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to drop it. The skin to skin contact felt more reassuring than he could possibly describe.

They were so quiet, practically holding their breath for a few minutes, before Patrick coughed and said, “Ah, soundproof, remember?” and Pete said, “Oh yeah.”

The two stood up, Patrick refusing to let go of Pete’s hand, and Pete, thankfully, not pulling away.

Standing up, Patrick noticed something on the other side of the bed. It looked as though a chunk of the floor had been torn out of the ground, propped up against the wall. Patrick walked over to inspect closer, dragging Pete around the bed with him, and dropping his hand to get down on his hands and knees. Pete clung loosely to his fingers, however, kneeling down next to him, and the two of them stared into a long, dark tunnel that Patrick couldn’t see the bottom of. The sides appeared to be made of metal, and it was more than big enough for an adult man.

“Andy’s not dead, is he?” Patrick asked. Next to him, Pete shook his head slowly.

The two of them ended up running out of the door, heedless of where Holmes was, and straight for the elevator.

“Basement,” Pete declared, jamming the B button on the elevator.

“Basement?” Patrick asked.

“HH Holmes, he kept all his victims in the basement if he was going to experiment on them, and all the chutes in the rooms lead straight there.” Pete rattled off facts like it was nothing, and Patrick couldn’t help giving him an odd look.

“I grew up in Wilmette.” Pete sighed. Patrick nodded, smirking a little, and maybe standing a little too close after they finally dropped hands. He was starting to notice that he got kind of clingy after near death experiences, which maybe everyone did, but most people didn’t have near death experiences as often as he.

They had to pry the elevator door open at the basement, but they ran out, ready and raring to come in for the daring rescue, throwing open the most suspicious looking door with fists raised, as Joe was getting dressed calmly, and Holmes sat cowering in a corner, murmuring to himself.

“You don’t look like you need rescuing.” Pete sounded so disappointed that Patrick had to laugh.

“Neither do you,” Joe said, pleasantly surprised.

“Andy’s not dead?” Pete asked.

“Patrick’s not dead?” Joe asked.

“Only on the inside,” Patrick sighed, and Joe laughed. “What happened to our good friend Henry?”

“Apparently you can be the ghost of the first and most notorious serial killer in American history-” Joe began, and Andy snorted. Joe turned to him.

“What?” he asked.

“‘Most notorious’?” Andy asked. “Jeffrey Dahmer doesn’t ring any bells?”

“Nobody gives a shit about Wisconsin!” Joe yelled. “Anyway, you can be the ghost of the first and most notorious CHICAGO BASED serial killer in American history,” he continued, shooting Andy a look as he emphasized Chicago, “possessing some poor postal worker, and you will still be traumatized when your teenaged victim turns into a werewolf.”

“I mean, it’s rather shocking,” Patrick said, snickering at the image of Holmes, who sat on the ground, shaking his head. “So what do we do with him?”

“Seriously?” Andy asked. “You two got out, the humans with no fighting talent at all, aside from when Pete decides to get drunk and punch out frat boys, and instead of CALLING THE POLICE-” his voice raised, but then he cut himself off, shaking his head.

“I’m not human,” Pete reminded him. “I could have done something. Charmspeak, remember?”

“You weren’t thinking about charmspeak.” Andy told him, and Pete opened his mouth for a second, promptly closing it.

“Yeah, I wasn’t,” he sighed. Patrick laughed again, even though it hurt his chest, because he was in an extraordinary good mood for someone who had been nearly dead some thirty minutes or so ago.

“So, is he a crazed fanboy, or a ghost possessing a guy?” Pete asked, turning to Holmes.

“Fuck if I know,” Joe said, stretching and wincing dramatically, his face screwing up in pain.

“What happened?” Patrick asked, giving Joe a concerned look. Joe jerked his head side to side.

“Nothing,” he said. “Stretched to death a little. Shoulders dislocated, I popped them back in.”

“Christ, you look as bad as I feel, you should get to a hospital,” Patrick said. Joe shook his head, forcing his features into a neutral expression, but even then he still looked pained.

“Patrick’s right,” Andy said, “You aren’t a doctor, you could have, I dunno, put them back in the wrong place or something.”

“You know what, Andy? I don’t think that’s how shoulders work.” Joe said, stretching his arms slightly and hissing in pain. “Still, you could have a point. But later. The only thing open this late is an ER.”

Patrick had leaned back against the wall while the spoke, even standing still was taking the wind out of him, and he needed to rest for a moment. While he leaned against the wall, his eyes began to slide closed, wishing desperately to succumb to exhaustion.

From what little Patrick had experienced of the supernatural world, this was both his favorite and least favorite part. The cleanup, the part that never made it into comic books, where the villain’s dead body has to get stashed somewhere and the heros need to find a place to sleep for the night, but it has to wait a few hours before they can, because they have so many goddamn responsibilities first. Batman, to the best of Patrick’s knowledge, never had to worry about something like this.

During his musings, he didn’t hear the sound of someone next to him, but he did feel the hand grip his shoulder and the sharp blade against his throat.

“Alright kids, fun’s over!” Holmes hissed in his ear, and Patrick sighed loudly, somewhat past the point of really being too concerned, not when his band was around. He opened his eyes and turned, ever so slightly, to face Holmes. He was careful not to get his own neck nicked on the knife, but still he caught Holmes' eyes a look of annoyance plastered on his face.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Patrick asked, his voice low. He heard a growl come from in front of them, and felt Holmes turn in their close proximity to face the rest of Fall Out Boy.

Joe had turned into a wolf again, Andy was snarling, teeth bared, and Pete's eyes were glowing a menacing gold color. Holmes let out a small whimper, and in his distraction, Patrick jammed his elbow into Holmes' ribs, pushing himself backwards and away from the knife,  then grabbing the weapon out of Holmes' hand.

Patrick took a step towards his band, holding the knife up high, right in Holmes' line of sight. Joe shifted yet again, and the murderer whimpered. The four of them stood together in a line, battle ready, and Holmes quivered at the sight of them. Patrick had never felt more powerful.

"You picked a very bad sample group to test out your hotel on," Joe told him, and Holmes nodded, looking as though he were about to cry.

They ended up tying Holmes up in the basement. Joe suggested that they tie him to the stretching rack, but Andy vetoed him. Pete was in favor of doing an exorcism right then and there, but Patrick talked him out of that one.

"Pete," he said, "Pete I am so tired. Can't we just leave him here and call one of your friends? Surely you have an exorcism guy."

"Of course I have an exorcism guy," Pete had snorted. "But that's hardly the point. Don't you want to be able to say you did it yourself?"

"No," Patrick said. "No I couldn't care less, Pete. I want to go to sleep."

And then, feeling he needed some extra encouragement, Patrick let his eyes widen and made himself look as tired and small as he possibly could. Pete caved instantly, and Patrick was deeply grateful that Pete still felt in some way responsible for everything that happened to Patrick.

They ended up deciding to drive back to the apartment, Joe saying that he really wasn’t that tired, wide awake after that, and it was only midnight, anyway. They all piled in the van, and Pete asked if he could borrow someone’s phone to call his backup exorcist guy.

“I would call my usual one,” Pete said, “but I doubt he’s up this late.”

Andy offered Pete his phone, and then swore loudly.

“What?” Patrick asked.

“Andrea,” Andy said, his face falling as he stared at his arm, dirty with soot. “She wrote her number down, but it must have sweated off in the fire.”

“You’ll get laid again,” Pete promised, throwing the phone back to him.

“That wasn’t what it was about.” Andy said, staring at his arm, rubbing at the ashes.

Patrick watched as Andy flipped open the phone, and grinned in surprise.

“She put her number in,” he said, lighting up. Patrick bit back a smile.

“Well you’re definitely getting laid,” he said, and Andy punched him in the arm.

It wasn’t until they got out of the van, practically sleepwalking back into the apartment, when Patrick noticed that he never let go of Holmes’ knife. It was a nice nice, so long it was practically a machete, and very sharp. He tossed it up in the air before realizing with his sleep laden brain that that wasn’t the brightest idea, but caught it by the handle anyway. Taking it as a sign, he gripped the handle tightly, and carried it back in with him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title by Neurosis  
> Hey! So I lied, NOW there are four more episodes. Oops. I have a plan for this, I swear, just got a little mixed up, but I did say the titles were tentative, so anyways Girl at the Rock Show will be next chapter. Thank you all for sticking around, and telling your friends! If you're here because you really hate shipping, this is a little peterick heavier than I originally intended, but I swear the real cannon peterick doesn't start for a long time. If you ARE here for the shipping, don't worry, the gay undertones get heavier. if you're here for the plot, thank you! I love you guys!!! I'm also almost posting with a schedule, have you noticed? Don't wanna jinx it, but updates are sorta getting closer together. Anyway, I'll stop rambling- tldr thanks for reading I love you all


	8. The Girl at the Rock Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick and Joe are home alone on a Saturday night, bored and drunk, and they decided it would be fun to summon Bloody Mary. Their friends disagree.

“But the problem,” Joe hiccuped in the pause, “the problem is, who’s gonna be the playboy if none of us are single?”

“Dude,” Patrick said, swirling the liquid in the bottle a bit, “dude.” His face full of derision, “Duuuuuude. Nah.”

“What?” Joe asked. “Every band’s gotta have a player.”

“That’s-” Patrick paused. “That’s sexist.”

“Did you hear me mention girls! We could flirt with dudes too.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever flirted with a dude.”

“Not true, I flirted with a guy to get my first drink.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“My first drink at a bar!”

“Oh,” Patrick got quiet.

“I mean, I guess Pete’s single half the time,” Joe mused. “He could still be that- hey!”

Patrick had smacked Joe in the arm. a frown on his face that looked more to Joe like a pout, his lower lip jutting out.

“Pete’s an idiot, but we aren’t allowed to make fun of him when he’s not around.” Patrick declared. “It’s mean.”

“‘Mean’?” Joe parroted back. “Are you five?”

“It IS mean,” Patrick declared. “He’s just got bad luck.”

“He could just break up with her.” Joe muttered.

“Whatever,” Patrick drew a sloppy line in the air with his hand. “At least Pete gets to see his girlfriend. You’re long-distance.”

“Yeah,” Joe said, sighing. He looked up at Patrick forlorn suddenly. “I miss my girlfriend.”

“I’m sure she misses you too,” Patrick sighed. “Are you always this sad when you’re drunk? Like, are you a sad drunk? I can’t deal with this for the rest of my life.”

“Glad you’re so supportive,” Joe grumbled. They sat in silence for a bit, Saturday Night Live blaring in the background. The tv had started to sort of buzz, so everyone sounded angry and the voices irritated Joe’s ears. He missed Marie. And he had had an awful day.

Ever since Indianapolis, they had all been on the lookout for anything resembling the vampires they had found, but since then, they had found less vampires than usual. According to Pete and Andy, that is. Joe had never run into a vampire before, merely heard warnings. The first real experience he had with vampires was attacking Andy, which was purely out of driven instinct to protect his friend.

Despite the lack of vampires, there was no lack of vampire victims. A few people in the music scene showed up after disappearing for a week, very dizzy and showing signs of blood loss, with no memory of the week they were gone. None of them in high enough positions for anyone to notice or care that they were gone for a week. All unemployed, in their early twenties, not in close contact with their parents.

It hadn’t been hitting that close to home, until today, when at six in the morning there had been a series of phone calls for Pete from some guy who left seven separate messages, all hysterical, that his best friend had gone missing. Naturally, Pete was the last one to wake up, so Joe tried to relay the messages as best he could to his friend. The guy never said his name, but mentioned a missing friend who he seemed to only refer to as ‘Sissy’ from what Joe could tell.

“ _Sisky_?” Pete had cried, waking up immediately. “Sisky, from The Academy?”

After listening to the messages, Pete determined that it was in fact Sisky, and the message came from Bill, the singer. Joe felt dumb for not realizing it earlier, but he only knew of The Academy Is…, and hadn’t spoken to them personally. Unlike Pete, who knew everyone personally.

So starting way too early that morning, they met up with the other members of The Academy Is… and scoured the city for Sisky. One of the idiots from that band offered Joe an old shirt of his, wanting him to track him from his scent.

“Ignoring how blatantly offensive that is,” Joe said when he saw it, fuming, “I think if anyone saw a fucking wolf roaming the streets of Chicago, I’d end up with a tranquilizer in my back and wake up in an animal control facility. Also, I can’t fucking track one person’s scent. People smell like people. There are millions of people in this city.”

Most of the band looked somewhat mollified, but Bill just gave Joe a disappointed look, with rings under his eyes.

While they were searching, Joe had asked Pete why THEIR band was stuck playing detective, and Pete admitted he may have “boasted somewhat” about their monster fighting abilities. Fall Out Boy was now, apparently, a mail order superhero team.

After a whole day of racing around the city and finding absolutely nothing, Pete and Andy ditched them on the L on their way back to the apartment, presumably to sleep with their girlfriends. So, tired and bored, Joe and Patrick were making their way through Pete’s shitty beer, and looking pathetic, probably. And as tired as he had complained he was all day, Joe was not fairly bored.

“We should do something!” Joe declared. Patrick looked unenthusiastic.

“Like what?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Joe realized, slumping back. “Wish the apartment were haunted. An exorcism might wake me up.”

“Oh, I’ve got something,” Patrick perked up, grinning sloppily over at him. “We could play Bloody Mary, haha.”

“Dude, what the fuck?” Joe asked, frowning over at his friend.

“What?” Patrick asked. He wasn’t slurring his words, but he sounded sort of fuzzy.

“Are you a thirteen year old girl?” Joe asked. He was serious now. “You shouldn’t mess with that shit.”

“I’ve played Bloody Mary before.” Patrick said, sounding offended. “And what, she’s real too?”

“I don’t know,” Joe said. “Probably. Why do you wanna summon an angry ghost?”

“Dude,” Patrick rolled his eyes. “It’s just a game. We should do it!”

“We’ve met a ghost, and I didn’t enjoy it.”

“Fine,” Patrick gave up. “You come up with a better idea.”

After a few minutes, Joe determined that he could not, in fact, come up with a better idea. He didn’t want to admit it immediately, and yet. Yet he was really bored. And really drunk.

“Bloody Mary would be fuuuuuun!” Patrick crowed in his ear in a sing song voice.

“Fine!” he yelled eventually, causing Patrick to fall off the couch in surprise, beer dripping onto the cushions.

“What the fuck?” Patrick asked.

“Let’s go play Bloody fucking Mary like the white kids in a horror movie.” Joe demanded.

“You are a white kid,” Patrick pointed out. “And as a werewolf, isn’t your whole life kind of a horror movie?” Joe scowled at him.

“How do you play Bloody Mary?”

It became apparent to Joe that Patrick had a pretty good idea of just how one played Bloody Mary. He grabbed the “emergency candles” that Joe had stocked up in the kitchen. (“You’ll be thanking me when there’s a power outage.” “We live in Chicago, dumb ass, the power doesn’t go out here, it would cause riots to collapse America’s economy.”) They then collected a set of disposable plastic knives at Patrick’s request, and went into the bathroom, locking the door when they were both inside.

“Knives?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrow at Patrick.

“There are a lot of different versions of the game,” Patrick said. “One of them involved thirteen knives, but I don’t think we have thirteen metal knives, so…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Joe sighed. “Let’s do this shit.”

Joe felt strangely at peace, and very, very warm. Pleasantly warm, but also intensely warm, like he was generating heat, lots of it. There was a slight hum of excitement under his skin as Patrick began to light the candles one by one.

“How many candles?” Joe asked.

“I’m not sure,” Patrick admitted, but stopped after two. “I think we just each need to hold one, that’s all. I just know we can’t have normal lights on.”

“Why?” Joe asked. Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Because Bloody Mary isn’t fucking real and you’re more likely to imagine you saw a face in the mirror if you can barely see shit.”

“Why are we doing this if it isn’t real?” Joe asked.

“Christ, we’re not gonna summon a ghost!” Patrick said, “It’s just fun to psych yourself up about this kinda thing.”

“You and I don’t have the same ideas about fun,” Joe grumbled, and Patrick shuffled around him, flipping off the light switch.

“Now what?” Joe asked.

“We say her name three times.” Patrick said, then focused hard on the mirror.

“Well, that’s not her name!” Joe protested. Patrick turned to him, a look of childish impatience on his face. Wax was starting to drip down the emergency candles and onto their hands, but Patrick’s seemed uninterested in this new development as he was practically bouncing. Suburban idiot.

“There’s a version with her supposed real name,” Patrick sighed, “But we’re just gonna try the traditional version first.”

“Fine, okay, fine,” Joe sighed.

The two of them stared into the glossy black mirror, rippling in the hesitant light of the candle flame. Joe focused on the mirror until he could no longer see Patrick in his peripherie, only the reflection of Patrick in the dim orange-y light. Patrick’s reflection opened it’s mouth, eyes flickering to Joe’s in the dark abyss of the mirror.

Mirror Patrick, eyes shrouded in shadow, began speaking a fraction of a second before Joe.

“Bloody Mary,” they spoke, almost in unison.

“Bloody Mary,” they repeated, Joe still speaking barely imperceptibly behind Patrick, he stumbling over the name, tongue thick and too heavy in his mouth. Patrick spoke clearly and boldly, probably staring into the mirror directly forward, whereas Joe was still looking at mirror Patrick, his eyes seeming to flicker from black to white from the fluttering flame.

“Bloody Mary,” they said for the third time. This time perfectly in unison. Patrick’s candle suddenly sputtered out, and he screamed, launching himself backwards, and Joe yelled, hand fumbling for the light switch.

Joe managed to eventually turn the light on, fear seizing his chest at the thought of what could happen to his friend and what Pete would do to Joe if something did. However, once the light was on, he could see Patrick rolling on the ground and cackling with laughter.

“Fucking ass-trumpet!” Joe yelled, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Dude!” Patrick cackled around the words. “That’s the fuckin’ secret to Bloody Mary- it’s just kids being dicks to each other,”

“You’re an asshole,” Joe grumbled.

“No shit,” Patrick giggled. He hiccupped a little.

“There’s gotta be some truth to this shit,” Joe muttered. He hopped up on the counter, knocking against the glossy mirror. “Why else would it be so popular?”

“It’s dark, flames distort vision, so do mirrors.” Patrick shrugged. “Kids have overactive imaginations.”

“No!” Joe yelled, still flushed from embarrassment. “We’re gonna prove Bloody Mary is fuckin’ real.”

“She’s not-” Patrick began, but Joe wasn’t listening. Patrick sighed.

That conversation was how, one hour and four beers between them later, Patrick was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, massaging his temples, and Joe was lining up thirteen candles next to thirteen knives.

“Bloody Mary isn’t actually real,” Patrick tried, his forehead pressed against the shower tiles. “In case you were concerned. The closest I’ve come to a supernatural experience involving her was when Megan and her friends were play and they got locked in the bathroom and they thought they were gonna die in there. I was in my bedroom at the time. Kevin had locked them in.”

“All legends have basis in fact,” Joe said. “And this was your idea.”

“Please don’t remind me,” Patrick groaned.

Joe was focused still, staring at the mirror, willing the ghost of a dead girl to crawl out and grab him. Say boo. Something.

“You said one of them involved saying her name a hundred and forty four times?” Joe asked.

“Dude,” Patrick said. “You will lose count.”

“Can we try?” Joe asked.

“Fine.” Patrick stood up, swaying slightly, and stood next to Joe. The warmth Joe felt earlier was more intense, hotter now, itching under his skin. He had to prove there was a way to win this stupid game. Maybe it just made him feel better if he thought that more legends were real, made him less like a freak, or maybe he was just desperate for action. This monster fighting thing was starting to become a major part of his personality, and he felt like a caged animal, left behind in the apartment while Pete and Andy were out doing, he didn’t know, Pete and Andy things.

“So, we have to say her name 144 times,” Joe reminded Patrick.

“Bloody Mary, or Mary Worth?” Patrick was giving off an air of a very tired preschool teacher.

“Let’s go for Bloody Mary,” Joe said, pleased that Patrick had given in. Perhaps it was stronger with two people speaking. Perhaps not.

“Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary…” they began chanting. Patrick seemed to be tripping over the words more than Joe was now, his tongue slipping in places, not holding the syllables properly, and making it so that the “Bloody Mary”s from him were slurred.

Joe tapered off suddenly, Patrick stopping and stared at him. Joe looked back at him, turning away from the mirror.

“That wasn’t 144?” he said, though he spoke like a question.

“I lost count,” Joe said, his lower lip jutting out slightly without him intending to pout. Patrick, mercifully, just gave him a condoling look, rather than say ‘I told you so’. Then said: “I told you so.”

“Whatever,” Joe was now actively pouting. “It was a dumb idea.”

“Hey, come on dude, do you wanna go play some more stupid urban legend games? Candyman is pretty-” Patrick cut off suddenly. Joe rolled his eyes.

“It’s not funny, dickbag,” Joe said, then looked up.

In the bathroom mirror, he could see, instead of Patrick’s reflection, the head and torso of what he imagined was probably Bloody Mary.

Lank, greasy hair on one side of her head, the other side covered in deep brown burns. Most of her nose had been burnt off, and she had only one eye left. The skin that wasn’t brown and scabbed over was paler than paper, and tinted blue. She cocked her head to one side, and in a surprisingly soft and musical voice, said

“Which of you is to come with me, then?”

Joe was petrified, all of his joints and muscles suddenly locking up in response to her question. She smiled, and he could hear half of her face cracking as she did. He was faintly aware of a small whimpering sound coming from himself.

“Come on, don’t be afraid,” she coaxed, and yet again Joe was stunned by how PRETTY her voice sounded.

Bloody Mary outstretched her hand, but instead of occurring as though through a screen, her hand reached through the mirror, gnarled and black, ice white bone poking through, and extended it towards Joe’s chest.

Joe was faintly aware of Patrick’s hand on his shoulder, dragging him to the side, the bathroom filling with light as he forced the door open, and being thrown into the living room.

“Get the Holy Water!” Patrick screamed, and Joe shook himself back to life. Patrick lunged to slam the bathroom door shut, but the creature had dragged herself out of the mirror, and was crouched in the doorframe. Patrick squeaked, falling backwards, and Joe threw him a bottle of Holy Water.

With more dexterity than Joe would have had, he unscrewed the Holy Water, and was splashing it in the face of the woman. She screamed as the water hit her and sizzled, and she fell backwards, steam rising off her skin wherever the water touched her. Patrick, still flat on his ass, shook the water at her until steam had filled the room, and her shrieks were silenced. When she lay still, the room smelled faintly of woodsmoke.

They could now get a better look at her, lying still. Some of the skin on the right side of her face had blackened and peeled back from the face, leaving a gaping black hole in her cheek. Her right eye socket was completely black and empty, and her lips had burnt away in some places so that her yellow teeth showed through. All of her skin on the right side was, at best, brown, and at worst, not there. She was wearing what looked like a nightgown, covered in brown blood stains. One foot was only bones, and the other one was bare, pale blue skin.

“I’m way too drunk for this,” Joe announced. He could feel his heartbeat in his hands and cheeks and throat, and could hear both his and Patrick’s hearts hammering loudly.

“I think I’m just drunk enough,” Patrick said. He was no longer slurring. “We should call Pete.”

“Is she gonna get up?” Joe asked, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice, and ignoring Patrick’s suggestion.

“I don’t know,” Patrick admitted. “We should lock her up or something.”

“Do you think locks will stop her?” Joe asked, a note of hysterical laughter in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Patrick repeated. “Why don’t we call Pete?”

“No,” Joe said. Then: “Okay, okay, okay,” pacing, scratching his head. “Um, okay. Okay.”

“Okay?” Patrick asked.

“Okay!” Joe yelled. “Okay.” He looked over at the collapsed figure of the ghost woman, not stirring at all. “Well she looks pretty solid, so I’m not sure how well an exorcism will work.”

“I bet you don’t even have previous experience in exorcisms,” Patrick laughed. He scooted away from Bloody Mary without standing up.

“I’ve seen Ghostbusters almost as many times as you!” Joe said.

“Not even close,” Patrick replied instantly.

“Not the point,” Joe sighed. “Um, okay, I’ve got an idea.” Joe gingerly stepped over the body of the girl and into the bathroom. He flipped on the light, and was pleased to see that the candles had gone out rather than set something on fire. Joe put a stopper in the ancient, vaguely creepy bathtub, and turned on the taps, letting it start to fill, paying no mind to the temperature.

“JOE!” Patrick yelled from the living room. “NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR BATHS!”

“It’s not for me!” Joe called back. He walked back out, making a wide circle around Bloody Mary rather than touch her, and grabbed another bottle of Holy Water. He shook it in Patrick’s face. “A bath of diluted Holy Water should keep her calm, don’t you think?”

Patrick nodded slowly,  looking impressed. “That could work, yeah. But one of us had to pick her up.”

Joe frowned, his brow furrowing as he thought about it.

“Have any gloves?” he asked finally.

“I mean, not latex-y gloves, but I’ve got some waterproof gloves,” Patrick suggested with a shrug. “We should call Pete.”

“We’re not gonna call Pete,” Joe growled. “We can take care of this.”

“Don’t be the older brother in a Nickelodeon cartoon,” Patrick pleaded. “We need help.”

“We can handle this,” Joe declared. He was still pissed off at Pete for ditching them earlier in the evening, but Patrick looked concerned. Bloody Mary stirred slightly in her sleep, and Patrick blanched.

“I’ll go get those gloves, finish up the bath,” he said, and Joe nodded, ducking into the bathroom and dumping the bottle of Holy Water into the tub, that now had a couple of inches of lukewarm water sloshing in the bottom. He ran back out, and saw the deformed girl grunting and twitching in her sleep. Patrick tossed a pair of thick blue gloves at him, the kind kids used when they went out to play in the snow. Joe caught them, then looked over at Patrick, horrified.

“Why do I have to touch her?” he asked, a whine creeping into his voice.

“Because you have super strength, dumbass!” Patrick cried back.

“Ugh, okay,” Joe leaned forward with the gloves on, and picked her up by the waist, trying not to let any other part of him come into contact with her. She moaned and her head rolled back, greasy hair draping across Joe’s shoulder, and he tossed her into the water. Her knees bent, and her chin bobbed just above the water, but aside from a pained noise, she didn’t move.

“Now what?” Patrick asked, peering over Joe’s shoulder. The bath was still running, and it didn’t even cover her stomach yet.

“Do we have more Holy Water?” Joe asked.

“A bit,” Patrick said. “We’re keeping that little Catholic store in business single handedly.”

“Untrue,” Joe said. “We have like, eight hands, all together.” Patrick rolled his eyes, but Joe enjoyed his joke, if no one else did. Patrick got him another bottle of Holy Water and Joe dumped it in the tub with her, causing Mary to start doing what looked like seizing.

“Did you kill her?” Patrick asked as she twitched violently.

“That would explain why she’s still moving, wouldn’t it!” Joe cried. He leaned over her in the bathtub, not wanting to miss anything important, but as he did, she let out a gurgling screech, and grabbed Joe by the throat, clammy hands cutting off his airway.

Joe lost his balance instantly, falling into the bathtub with her, splashing water everywhere. He managed to get out of her grasp, grabbing her wrists and trying to hold them down.

“Maybe call Pete now!” Joe yelped.

***

Pete was having a wonderful evening. After something of a wild goose chase with Sisky, one that he was still quite worried about, he wanted something to take it off his mind. And what better than the sudden forgiveness from Jeanae’s parents, inviting him over for dinner.

“Our daughter is old enough to make her own decisions,” her father had said, “And if you are her decision, we will support her.”

It was a warmer welcome than Pete had ever received in that house, and his good mood only increased when her parents decided the two of them were going out for a date night, letting Pete and Jeanae stay at their home, alone. With very minimal charmspeak convincing. Almost none. Just a bit to convince them that Pete could stay once they left.

Jeanae’s room was nice. It looked like a television room, with everything in place. The bed was made. Everything about her was so put together.

Of course, the bed wasn’t made for long. She had soft music playing, her underwear matched, Jesus, and Pete was starting to feel really thankful for the condom in his wallet when his phone rang.

“You need to get that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and pulling at the strap on her bra.

“Absolutely not,” Pete said, wide eyed. He leaned in, kissing her and biting down on her soft lips when his phone rang again.

“Could be important,” she teased, and stuck her thumbs under her waistband. Pete hit decline instantly.

The third time the phone rang, she started to look a little annoyed. “Maybe it’s an emergency?” she sighed, but looked somewhat disappointed.

“I’m not 911,” Pete soothed, declining again, this time catching sight of the caller. It was the apartment, and he felt a little guilty, but then she was undressed, and Pete wasn’t going to say no.

The phone rang a fourth time, and Jeanae sat up, crossing her arms over her chest. “You may as well get that,” she sighed, looking off into the distance.

“It’s not important,” Pete promised, and turned his phone off. “There, see? No more interruptions. You’re the most important thing to me right now.”

Jeanae smiled, uncrossing her arms and lying back down. Pete was kissing across her collarbone when Jeanae’s cell phone went off. OH GOD, PLEASE NO.

“What do you think?” she asked, staring at her screen, “Is Joe Trohman calling to catch up with me?”

“Oh my God!” Pete groaned.

“Just take it,” she pleaded, handing him the phone. Pete flipped it open, wondering if the expression on his face was as murderous as he felt inside.

“I am really in the middle of something right now,” Pete hissed, eyes narrow. “This had better be important. End of the world important.”

“IT’S PRETTY FUCKING IMPORTANT!” Joe screamed. The line was filled with splashing and the sound of a girl screaming. Pete sat up, turning away from Jeanae.

“What happened?” he asked, biting his lip with sudden concern. He heard Patrick scream, a thunk, and more female screaming. “What did you do?” he asked more urgently.

“Oh, Christ, Patrick!” Joe yelled. “No, no, just jam your knee into her gut, I don’t know! Here, you take the phone!”

Pete couldn’t do anything but stare at Jeanae with an expression of confused horror while Joe set the phone down. She shrugged at him, and had put a shirt back on. Pete still had the presence of mind to feel vaguely disappointed.

“Pete!” an out of breath Patrick had picked up the phone. “Sorry about that, I was taking a turn to hold her down.”

“Hold WHO down?” Pete asked, standing up and beginning to pace the bedroom, running one hand through his hair.

“Oh, didn’t Joe tell you?” Patrick asked. He sounded almost happy, and definitely drunk.

“No,” Pete said, his voice low and menacing. “What did you do?”

“We might,” Patrick said, “Have summoned Bloody Mary. A little.”

“YOU WHAT?!” Pete screamed. “ARE YOU CRAZY?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Patrick said mildly. “It may not have been. Anyway, she’s in the bathtub with some diluted Holy Water, which seems to make her weak. Or, Joe says it makes her weak, but he has super strength, so I’m not sure if he’s the best authority on relative-”

“Holy Water?” Pete asked.

“It works,” Patrick said. “Sort of.”

“Oh my god,” Pete groaned, pulling at his hair. “Okay, Christ, what do you need me for then?”

“She’s still trying to drown us,” Patrick said, still sounding mild and calm. “Do you have a better idea for placating her?”

“No, I don’t,” Pete replied sharply. “And I’m busy, so if you don’t mind-”

“Give me the fucking phone, Patrick!” Joe screamed, and Patrick sighed.

“I have to hold down the ghost girl, talk to you later,” he said, and before Pete could call out for him to wait, Joe was growling down the line.

“Get back here now!” Joe demanded.

“I’m in the middle of something,” Pete said, looking back at Jeanae, who had gotten dressed, and was flipping boredly through a magazine, seemingly indifferent to the drama Pete was going through.

Patrick screamed in the background, and it turned to gurgling in a moment. Pete heard splashing close to the phone, and Patrick mumbled “thanks,” and Joe said “no prob”.

“Look,” Pete sighed. “Can you guys handle it for a bit? It’s a good hour of travel back anyways, but I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“I’ll try my best,” Joe said. “Can you call Andy?”

“You can call Andy,” Pete said, and hung up. He flashed a gleaming smile at Jeanae.

“Where were we?” he asked.

Pete didn’t tell Jeanae what was going on, and in truth, he didn’t think she wanted to know. The sex wasn’t as good as it could have been, but he made a decent recovery from the interruption. She looked disappointed when he left, but more resigned than anything, as though she had expected as much.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised, apologies in his eyes.

“Yeah, well,” she flicked her hair over her shoulder, looking anywhere but at him, “I might be busy.”

Pete wasn’t sure if it would have been better or worse if she had known the truth. After she got kidnapped by mermaids last year, Jeanae wasn’t all that thrilled with the supernatural world.

He rode the L back alone, feeling guilty for leaving his girlfriend behind, and even guiltier for making Joe and Patrick wait. He hoped they would be able to handle it, but what would he do if he walked into an apartment filled with corpses? The anxiety in his stomach grew until it encompassed his whole torso, worry filling him to the brim. he jogged from the station all the way back to the apartment, and saw through the window from the outside something glowing an acidic red inside. It wasn’t encouraging.

As soon as Pete opened the door, he heard Andrea scream “You have a girl tied up in your bathtub?!” and Andy reply “It’s not my apartment!”

Inside the living room, Andrea was staring at Andy with an expression of disbelief, and Patrick was watching from the sidelines. The red light was still emanating all across the apartment, and it seemed to be coming from the bathroom.

“In there?” Pete asked, jerking his head towards the door, and noticing just how much calmer he was now that he could see Patrick was alright.

“Joe’s in there with her,” Patrick agreed, and cast a worried gaze to Andy and Andrea. “I probably should’ve explained the situation better when I called him,” Patrick sighed, biting his lip. His eyes were big and regretful, with no inhibition about emotional display in his state. His aura glowed a soft yellow, somewhat balancing the red that was pulsing from the bathroom.

Patrick crooked his arm and led Pete into the bathroom, where Joe was sitting on the counter, and an almost blinding red light came off of the girl lying in the bathtub in waves.

She was hideous and terrifying, burnt all over, but she was also in an immense amount of pain, so much that Pete could practically feel it piercing his chest.

“Jesus Christ-” he said, and reached into the water to grab her, but the water seared his hands, and he yelped in pain, jumping back.

“That’s too fucking hot!” he yelled, glaring at Joe and Patrick. Patrick cocked his head, curious. He stepped forward and sank his whole arm into the tub, and said; “Dude, it’s barely warmer than room temperature.”

“It’s boiling!” Pete cried, and Patrick shook his head.

“It’s just a little warm.” he repeated.

“Whatever,” Pete said, shaking his head. “Get her out of there!”

“And have her kill us?” Joe asked.

“Get her out of there now!” Pete growled, catching sight of a flash of gold from his eyes in the mirrors. Joe stood up, looking zombified, and lurched towards the bathtub, as Pete realized what he had done.

“Wait, stop!” he said, shaking his head. Joe glared daggers at Pete. “Sorry, didn’t realize I had done it.” He cursed himself, shaking his head. “Please, get her out of there.”

“Why?” Joe asked.

“It’s hurting her!” Pete cried. “You’ve got her tied up, there are five of us and one of her, just get her out of that water.”

“Why don’t you do it?” Joe asked, looking at Pete with suspicion. Patrick rolled his eyes and dragged Bloody Mary out of the water, onto the bathroom floor. The brilliant, bright red receded to a small outline around her, and she curled up, coughing. Pete knelt down, stroking what was left of her hair behind her ear and wincing where the still scalding hot water touched his hand.

“C’mon,” Pete heaved her over his shoulder. “Let’s go talk about this.” He carried her into the living room, and sat her down in the recliner, where she slumped forward.

“I’m sure there’s an awesome explaination for this, right?” Andy asked.

“We got bored and summoned Bloody Mary and tried to stop her from dragging us to a hell dimension with Holy Water but according to Pete that was torture so we’ve fucked up a few times tonight.” Patrick said. Andrea leaned forward.

“That’s Bloody Mary?” she asked Patrick, pointing to Bloody Mary on the recliner, and looking vaguely impressed. “The Bloody Mary?”

“Either that or something that resides in mirrors is doing a really spot on imitation,” Patrick said, and Pete chuckled slightly.

“Your emergency was Bloody Mary?” Andrea gawked.

“I’m just as shocked as you are,” Andy said. Everyone was staring at Joe and Patrick. Joe remained sullenly silent, but Patrick shrugged.

“Would you rather we not have asked for help?” he asked.

“Okay,” Pete stood up, lacing his fingers behind his head and walking the length of the living room. “So what do we do about her now?”

“Get her back in the mirror?” Patrick.

“Kill her?” Andrea.

“Set her free?” Andy.

“Donate her body to the Wheaton Demonology department?” Joe.

“The Wheaton Demonology department!” Pete gasped, pointing at Joe. “Brilliant!”

“I was joking!” Joe said, looking aghast. “That’s a terrible idea!”

“No, I mean, I have a guy for this!” Pete said, grinning happily. “He can totally help us with this!”

“You have a guy for this?” Andrea repeated, looking from Pete to Andy. Andy gave Pete a pointed look.

“You have a guy for this?” Andy asked, voice tight.

“Bill!” Pete said, still beaming. “Not only does he have a cousin at Wheaton, he did a ton of research on mirror demons. And since he’s looking for Sisky, maybe he could ask someone that exists in every mirror about it!”

“Is he serious?” Andrea asked Andy.

“I have no idea.” Andy lied through his teeth. Pete almost called him on the lie right then, but finally realized, ah, yes, Andy’s girlfriend was there. She looked panicked, her eyes wide and hands trembling slightly.

“Bill is-” Pete tried to lie for Andy, but his tongue slipped around the words, as usual. He tried to choke out something, but it felt like there was an iron grip on his throat whenever he tried to lie.

“Bill’s a religious nut,” Patrick finished for Pete. “Could help.”

“Right, well, I’m gonna go home,” Andrea said abruptly, clearly unconvinced by Patrick. “I need to get some sleep, you guys look like you have this in hand. I’ll see you around, Andy.” Pete, with a wince, could tell she was lying. Terrified, by the look of her aura.

“Bye,” Andy said miserably as Andrea walked out of the apartment. Pete winced, looking down.

“Sorry,” he said to Andy, and Andy just looked away, not meeting Pete’s eyes as though he were about to cry.

“I wasn’t planning on introducing her to the supernatural like this,” he said tightly, staring out the window.

“It’s my fault,” Patrick said, apologetically. “I just- you wouldn’t pick up, so I thought you might have been with Andrea, and I said it wa an emergency I thought she would give the phone to you, but-”

“Forget it,” Andy said shortly. “What do we do about her?”

“Well,” Pete scratched his head. “It’s nearly two in the morning, but if I know Bill, he’s still up. You guys wanna call him now, or sleep in shifts?”

“Shifts?” Joe asked.

“Just because she’s not moving now…” Pete jerked his head towards Bloody Mary, who had been silent ever since she got out of the tub, but who was sitting straight up now.

“I’m tired,” Joe said.

“Same,” Patrick agreed.

“Yeah, it’s two AM, we’re all tired,” Andy snapped. “You two can take first watch, since you summoned her in the first place.”

“Are you kidding? The fucking Academy woke me up at six this morning!” Joe whined.

“I can do it,” Patrick sighed, resigned. Pete looked him up and down. His outer aura was thin and wavering slightly, and he was probably the most tired there. But he seemed eager to make up for the situation, and sometimes, Pete thought, it was kinder to accept an apology then declare it unnecessary.

“Wake me up at five, then,” Pete said to Patrick. Patrick nodded, and changed the channel on the TV. Pete hadn’t even noticed it had been on all that time. Joe promptly went to his room, and Pete followed after, not really paying attention as Patrick told Andy to take his bed.

Pete didn’t sleep well, trying to not worry about Patrick or his girlfriend or Andy’s girlfriend or the infamous ghost sitting in their living room next to Patrick. When he finally fell asleep, he couldn’t stay asleep, fading in and out of consciousness until he became aware of the sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window.  His cell phone said it was eight, and he ran out into the living room, where Patrick was watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch, eyelids drooping.

“It’s eight,” Pete said. Patrick looked up at him, nodded slightly, and looked back at the tv. It didn’t appear as though Bloody Mary had moved.

“So go to sleep?” Pete said, sitting next to Patrick. Patrick shook his head.

“Go back to bed,” he croaked to Pete.

“Can’t sleep,” Pete said.

“Me either,” Patrick excused. Pete could tell he was lying, even without the innate fae ability. Patrick couldn’t lie to save his life.

“Hey,” Pete grabbed Patrick’s wrist, rubbing his thumb over his pulse point. Patrick hummed sleepily, and Pete smiled, slightly. “Get some rest, okay? We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

Pete managed to coax Patrick into his bed, then took up his position of sitting on the couch and watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Since she was engaged in this episode, and working full time, Pete wasn’t sure if she entirely qualified as teenaged anymore, but it probably wasn’t worth the argument. He was midway through the episode when he heard, in a beautiful, musical voice, a quiet “Thank you.”

Pete nearly shot out of his seat, staring across the room in terror, to where Bloody Mary sat, hair brushed out of her eyes, or rather, eye and eye socket. she was quivering slightly, but repeated, “Thank you, for earlier. It is good to have someone who understands the pain.”

“I’m an empath,” Pete said. She didn’t seem worth the energy it took for him to be terrified, not at the moment. “I know what people are feeling.”

“Do you know what I’m feeling now?” she asked.

“Frightened,” Pete said. It was a guess, really, because her aura was still just a thin sliver of the angry red it had been earlier, but she nodded.

“You are not who I expected,” she said. “Usually people do not fight back. They are never successful. You are different.”

“Mary,” Pete chuckled, “You don’t know the half of it.”

“My name,” she said, sounding amused. “Mary. And you are Peter.” Pete stopped laughing, looking at her seriously again.

“I don’t think I said my name,” he said, blinking at her.

“I knew your father,” she said. “Your true father, or had you not heard the story yet?” Pete had turned to stone, all of his muscles locking up and making his face hard.

“I know the story, not the man,” Pete said, turning to face the television, hoping she would get the hint and leave him alone.

“You have done me a great favor by removing me from that place,” she said, heedless of how much he wanted to stop talking to her, “So, as is the custom of your people, the fae, I will repay the favor threefold.”

“You know what, I’m good,” Pete said, not turning back to her, and drawing his knees up to his chest to make himself smaller in the couch.

“Such gifts should not be thrown away so lightly,” she said. “Firstly, when I return where I belong, I will take a soul. I will, however, allow you to choose the soul I shall take.” She paused, seeming to wait for Pete to respond. When he did not, she continued, “Secondly, I will give you a gift.”

Pete watched in horror as she tugged gently at her hair until a chunk of it fell away, and she held it in her outstretched hand. She gestured for him to take it, and, with some trepidation, he did. Though it looked greasy and wet, it felt smooth and dry and soft.

“Nice to have a memento of days like these, I suppose,” Pete said dryly. She laughed at that, a chiming, beautiful laugh, somewhat disrupted because pete could see the burnt flesh on her face quivering when she moved.

“It is cursed, just like me,” she told him. “And I’m sure you’ll find a use for something that powerful. Surely, my fae friend, you can sense the power in it. The vitality. The cruelty.”

“I don’t curse people,” Pete said flatly.

“Then ward things away with it,” she laughed. “Your human in there,” she jerked her head towards the room where Patrick was sleeping, and Pete tensed up even more, “He’s going to need all the protection you can get. Especially from things that live in mirrors,” she leered at Pete, a terrifying smile coming over her face, too wide, her eye bulging, and her burnt flesh cracking where it should have moved. Pete didn’t lurch back, but faced her down, lifting his chin with anger burning deep inside him.

“Is that a threat?” he asked.

“Simply a warning.” Her response was airy. “And the third favor-” she paused, then reached out and put her unburnt hand on Pete’s face, cold and clammy, turning his face towards hers. “Is a bit of advice.”

“I don’t think I need your advice, thank you,” Pete said.

“And yet, I didn’t ask for your favor either,” she said. “Whether your mother told you or not, your father, your real father, he is very powerful, and he will come for you when you have matured. Your skill is too much for him to waste, I am sure of it. If you wish to prolong the life you live now, I suggest you avoid mirrors.”

Pete felt chilled deeply, as though someone had taken all of his bone marrow out and frozen it, then replaced it. His breathing was labored, and his eyes wide.

“Thank you,” he said, solemnly. He knew enough of the supernatural world to keep it simple, to accept her gifts and leave it at that. She nodded at him, giving him a smaller, but still terrifying smile. He tried to keep watching tv, but it was just a blur of shapes and colors and sound that he couldn’t piece together into anything meaningful. He finished the episode, then gave up on trying to focus on anything while he still half believed Mary was smiling at him, and was too afraid to look. Instead, he pulled his mostly dead cell phone out of his pocket, and called Bill.

***

Andy woke up after sleeping terribly to only get grouchier as he smelled pancakes being made in the kitchen. He stumbled out of Patrick’s bedroom, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, not even having taken his shoes off before he’d fallen asleep, to see Pete cheerfully making breakfast while Bill stood above his shoulder, screaming at him.

“You know, I’m kind of going through something right now!” Bill yelled. Andy was pretty sure Pete was whistling.

“And we’re going to go right back to helping you, after we get the demon out of our apartment,” Pete reassured him. “And you’re the guy I trust with all my mirror based exorcisms.”

Bill’s arms were flailing wildly, his hair messy and strewn all over his head. “Why?”

“You have experience,” Pete said, he flipped the pancake in the pan, grinning at Bill.

“That was completely different!” Bill cried, his voice raising an octave. “It was a poltergeist, not Bloody fucking Mary!”

“You’re my mirror guy!” Pete insisted, flipping it onto the plate and handing the plate to Bill. “Oh, hey Andy. Hungy?”

“Still vegan,” Andy said blandly. He opened the fridge, and saw a huge bottle of tomato juice with his name on it, via a pink, heart shaped sticky note. He turned to Pete.

“Is this-?” he began, and Pete nodded, sausage sticking out of his mouth. Andy poured some of it into a mug and put it in the microwave.

“Gross,” Bill said.

“Blood is grosser cold,” Andy told him. Bill blanched, then stared down at his plate, eating faster. He swallowed thickly, then looked up again.

“And you have no idea where Sisky is?” he asked, face darkened. Andy rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to snarl.

“I’m drinking 99 parts tomato juice 1 part blood for breakfast, what do you think?” he asked. He yanked the mug out of the microwave, making to swallow the whole thing, but burning his tongue, and began sipping slowly. “I need real food too, by the way,” he told Pete, who nodded.

“We have your expensive ass veggie dogs in the freezer,” he said, still focusing on the ever expanding stack of pancakes. “Do you want some?” he called over to Bloody Mary. She glared back at Pete, who shrugged, eating one off the top.

“Look,” Bill said, pushing his food around with his fork. “I wanna help you, I do, but I think you guys can figure this out on your own. Just put her back through the mirror, that’s all.”

“How do we do that?” Pete asked.

“What have you tried?” Bill asked him.

“Well, nothing yet,” Pete admitted.

“Then try asking her nicely,” Bill suggested sarcastically.

“When did you get so cheeky?” Pete asked.

“I’m having a bad week,” Bill snapped. Pete’s face softened into a sympathetic expression, putting a hand on Bill’s shoulder.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Pete promised. Bill shrugged his hand off, his expression tight and wounded.

“I didn’t want to get him involved in all of this,” Bill said, looking down. Pete looked at him so mournfully that Andy wanted to look away, it seemed so suddenly private.

“I know,” Pete said, his voice heavy with meaning. Andy coughed slightly, pulling the two out of their moment.

“How did you get roped into all this supernatural bullshit?” Andy asked, holding the still too hot mug in both hands.

“Born into it, can’t you smell it?” Bill asked.

“Smelling isn’t my strongest sense,” Andy said. “So you aren’t human?”

Bill grinned at him. “Not exactly,” he said, and his eyes began glowing. Where Pete’s eyes glowed gold, Bill’s glowed a pale, icy blue, shimmering in the early morning light. Andy nearly dropped his mug.

“It’s not that impressive,” Bill chuckled, blinking and letting his eyes fade back to normal. “I’m only half fairy. Pete’s the real deal.”

“Half?” Andy squeaked.

“Charmspeak is a dominant trait,” he said, raising his eyebrows proudly. “So’s the glow-y glow thing.”

“Of course it is,” Andy spoke faintly, clinging tightly to his mug full of blood. He took another deep draught of it, trying to calm his nerves. He shouldn’t be surprised by this stuff anymore, and yet here he was. Being freaked out. Even in his head, he knew it was hypocritical. He was the boogey man that people were afraid of most of the time; he was a vampire that couldn’t be killed by the sun. It was much scarier than glowing eyes.

Joe walked into the kitchen then, hand in his hair and ruffling up his curls to make them even messier than they already were.

“Patrick not up yet?” he asked.

“What did you expect?” Pete snorted. “Breakfast?” Joe sat down, eating as well, while Bill kept shoving food from side to side.

“Listen,” Pete continued. “She exists in every mirror, doesn’t she? Don’t you think that would make her really good at searching for somethings? Or someones?”

Andy was standing in front of the microwave, and after Pete spoke, he heard a plate shatter. He spun around, and Bill had stood up, knocking over chair and plate.

“Listen-” he began, but Bill ran into the living room, and lifted Mary’s chin gently with his finger. She stared at him balefully with her one bulging eye, in a look that should have sent him sprawling, but he stared her down.

“Can you look into any mirror, at any time?” he asked urgently. Her face was impassive.

“In a manner of speaking,” she replied softly, and upon hearing her voice for the first time, Andy was taken aback. She sounded beautiful, and he recalled, sadly, the legend of the woman he had heard growing up. Of a woman so beautiful who had a deformed child, and was burnt for practicing witchcraft so that she might be as ugly as her kin. He wondered what she had looked like alive, if the legend was true.

“Is there a caveat?” Bill continued impatiently, drawing Andy back to the present.

“You ask because you are looking for someone, and I cannot help you,” she said. “There are trillions of reflective surfaces on this planet, and you ask me in my weakened state to look into all of them at once in the hopes of seeing one person? The task is impossible. And I would not help you in any case. You are no different from those who trapped me here.”

“I’m trying to put you back!” Bill shouted. “And we’re not talking about the world, we’re talking about this city, just Chicago!”

“Reflections can be seen in more than just gilt frames,” she said. “How many buildings and sculptures can you see your face in? What if there are none near the one you search at all?”

“How did you know it was what he wanted?” Andy asked, then was almost surprised at himself for speaking. Mary looked at him with her ghastly eye and terrible smile, and spoke directly at him.

“More than mere mortals call on me, and I am more than a parlor trick. People ask for all sorts of things, and the sad ones always want me to find something.”

“There’s no way you could find him?” Bill asked, focusing on her intently.

“I will not,” she said.

“But you can!” he said.

“You’d have to put me back in the mirror first,” she said.

“You’re lying,” Bill said, and Andy caught a glimpse of the faint blue glow there. Her smile turned into a sneer.

“Another fae, huh?” she asked. “Yes, I can find him, no, I won’t.”

“Then I’ll leave you tied up here,” Bill said, eyebrows narrowing. Pete made a disgruntled noise, but he didn’t dispute Bill’s claim, so Andy held his tongue as well. She stared Bill down with a look that should have made him quake with fear, but he stared back calmly.

“I can look,” she admitted, her voice a low growl. Bill’s eyes welled up, and Andy felt yet again like he should turn away from the display of emotion.

“Thank you,” Bill said, and Mary scoffed. Andy caught Joe’s eyes and he shrugged.

“I can send my essence,” Mary said, “Though it will be difficult. Once I find whoever I am sent to find, I can lead you to them. But you will have to be quick. In my current form I can only last in reflections for a glimpse.”

“What does that mean?” Bill asked, and Andy could see how desperate he looked. All wide eyes and messy hair and shaking hands. He wondered, briefly, how it would look if one of their band were kidnapped, then pushed the thought out of his head, unwilling to think about the possibility.

Bill and Mary began talking, him producing a picture of Sisky so she could have an idea, and she explaining somewhat how the process worked, while Andy let his mind drift.

Andy had been trying not to think about the night previous. He had been trying not to think of the way Andrea had stared at him, terrified. And she had wanted to talk about something seriously later, only to up and leave. They were doing well, he thought. The two of them had been dating for nearly three months now, with hardly a hitch. No arguments, she had a huge apartment to herself, something she said was a part of her scholarship, so he spent most of his nights over there already. And then, last night, total disaster. If she reacted that badly to the ghost in the mirror, how would she deal with the idea that her boyfriend was a vampire?

It wasn’t as though Andy had never been serious with a girl before, but it had never been quite like this. He had been thinking, for the past couple of weeks, about telling her the truth, seeing how she would react. Clearly, this was a bad idea. But they would have to talk about it if he wanted to keep up the relationship with her. God, if she even wanted to stay together after the last night.

“Very well,” Mary’s soft, clear voice brought him back to the apartment. “I will search for him. You will know when I have returned.”

“You aren’t leaving,” Joe said, brows furrowed. “You’re tied up, you can’t leave.”

“Ha,” she said, no laughter in her voice. “Wolves. Always so grounded in the physical.” With no other departing words, she let her head roll backwards, her one eye falling shut. Her body convulsed, slightly, and then lay still in the chair.

“Is it too early to be drunk?” Joe asked. Bill looked thrilled, letting out a small laugh as he collapsed on the ground. The phone began to ring, and Pete walked into the kitchen, answering in a very worn voice.

“Andy!” he said in a second. “It’s your girlfriend!” Andy screwed his eyes shut, and walked over to the phone as though he were walking to his death. He gripped the phone loosely, holding it a little ways away from his ear.

“Hello?” he said, and she sighed, sounding relieved.

“Andy,” she breathed. “You’re still there. Good. Um, listen, I think that, uh, I think that we need to talk.”

Andy felt his stomach drop out from beneath him.

“We… need to talk?” he echoed.

“Yes,” she said vehemently. “Can you meet me?”

Andy looked around the room. Joe, at the very least, probably heard her question, and was giving him an expectant look. Mary would be back anytime. And did he really want to be broken up with before what was potentially a giant fight?

“I- I really, really can’t right now,” he said. She made a low, upset noise in her throat.

“Andy,” she pleaded. “This really can’t-”

“We’ll talk soon, okay?” he said.

“I think- okay, fine,” she said. “But hurry.”

“Bye,” he said, feeling miserable.

“Bye,” she replied, sounding worse.

Andy felt like all of the body beneath his skin was gone, that he had gone completely hollow, but he figured he had no time to feel sorry for himself, because there was still a job to focus on. Bloody Mary was twitching in her seat, her eye moving rapidly behind her eyelid, and the rest of the room was watching her intensely. Pete murmured something about waking up Patrick, and left the room.

The moment the two of them were back, Patrick rubbing his eyes, Mary shot up, eye wide and gasping for breath.

“I know-” she panted. “I know where your friend is. I can take you there.”

“How?” Bill asked. She winked. Or maybe she blinked, Andy couldn’t actually tell.

“Why, my dear boy, by mirror,” she replied. The boys in the room exchanged looks, shrugging slightly, and then the woman’s head rolled back again, and she appeared in as a reflection in the tv screen.

Her image was only there for a moment, disappearing and reappearing in the hall mirror, closer to the door, and then the side of the toaster, cocking her head.

“So, we just follow her?” Bill asked.

“I’ll stay with her body.” Joe said. “You know, in case. You guys should go-”

The image of Mary appeared briefly in the doorknob, and Andy grabbed the handle, yanking it open, in time to see her reflected in a hall light. He set off after her, hearing footsteps in pursuit of him.

It was amazing how many reflective surfaces there were in the world, Andy mused. Bloody Mary’s reflection never stayed in one reflection for very long, but there were plenty for her to move to, so usually they could keep it at a light jog. Or, it was a light jog for Andy. He wasn’t sure how Bill, Pete, and Patrick were holding up as they raced through the city streets, following her from window to hotdog cart to puddles on the ground.

Andy was incredibly grateful for his experience in endurance running as they chased her reflection up Clark street from DePaul all the way down to the Loop, where it intersected with Michigan avenue, and she turned, going slower as there were plenty of window reflections to pause in. Behind him, Andy heard the heavy, labored breathing of three people that had neither the stamina of a runner or a vampire.

They were just across the street from Millennium Park, miles away from where they had began and very tired, when Andy heard Andrea calling his name, and he froze.

“Andy?” Pete asked, and Andy turned around, seeing her waving at him, and running up to them.

“Hey, is this a good time?” she asked.

“Does it look like it?” Patrick asked her, breathless and frustrated. Andy resisted, with some difficulty, the urge to kick him. Hard.

“I- is it quick?” Andy asked, looking over his shoulder where Bill was gesturing for them to move forward.

“It can be,” she said, looking fiercely determined. Determined, and very, very scared. Her eyes were big, her eyebrows set, and her her lower lip was quivering.

“Go on ahead,” Andy said, not tearing his eyes away from her, “I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute.”

“You’ll lose us!” Patrick said.

“No I won’t, give me a minute,” Andy demanded. Pete murmured something, and the two of them hurried off after Bill. “I really do have to go in, like, under a minute,” he said, giving Andrea an apologetic look.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out. Andy felt time screech to a halt, all of the deafening traffic of Chicago going silent and his muscles going numb. He stared at her, dumbfounded, with nothing but the vague thought in the back of his head that he hoped he wasn’t slack jawed.

“Like, really pregnant,” she continued. “First date pregnant, nearing the end of the first trimester. I’ve just- I wanted to be really sure before I said anything and it took a while for me to schedule an appointment and then I had to find someone to drive me and I didn’t want to mention it if I wasn’t sure and tests are never right and I’ve always had a kind of inconsistent period so I couldn’t be sure but now I am sure and I’m pro-choice and all but I don’t wanna get an abortion I really don’t and you don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to you can break up with me right now and totally forget about it if you want to but-”

“Stop!” he said, finally, trying to stop her from rambling. “I’m not going to break up with you, I just-”

“ANDY!” Pete screamed, from all the way down the street. Andy inhaled deeply, feeling his chest tighten with panic.

“I have to go!” he said, his voice betraying how constricted his throat was.

“Now?” she asked. Her eyelashes were damp.

“You’ll still be pregnant in a few hours, and I still won’t be breaking up with you, but this is a life or death situation and I’ll call you as soon as I can!” Andy yelled, turning away from her and running down the street. She didn’t call after him, and it made him feel worse.

The door to the Congress hotel was propped open by Pete, who ushered Andy in. They half jogged over to an elevator, where Pete said “ten” to the man waiting inside.

“Tenth floor and then what?” Andy asked, trying to shift back into a businesslike mood while he still fought to regulate his breathing.

“Tenth floor and then we hope Bill and Patrick are making a lot of noise while they run?” Pete suggested. Andy nodded curtly, and they both sprinted out of the door as soon as it dinged.

It turned out that they didn’t need to worry about noise, as the door directly down the hall was ajar. As they ran inside, Andy looked up to see the reflection of Mary in the hotel room window winking, and disappearing. Bill was kneeling on the bed next to a confused looking kid with wildly curly, messy hair, that looked as though he had just woken up, and Patrick lay sprawled out on an armchair by the bed.

“Sisky,” Pete said, walking over to the kid that lay on the bed, and shaking his hand jovially. “Glad your still alive and-” he paused, turning his head. Andy looked as well, and froze at the sight of two identical puncture wounds on the side of the kid’s neck.

“Kidnapped by vampires, apparently,” he croaked out in a tired voice. “Bill told me.”

“You’re okay, man, you got out,” Bill murmured, rubbing his back.

“Yeah, but I don’t remember any of that shit!” he said, looking almost angry. “I just woke up here!”

Andy wanted to collapse on the ground next to Patrick’s chair, but he remembered the sight of Mary in the mirror, and snapped himself back to attention yet again.

“Guys!” Andy half shouted, his voice cracked from over exertion. The four of them turned to him, and he took in a deep breath. “She probably went back to her body. Which Joe was watching.”

“Dammit!” Patrick stood up, a hand on his side.

“Bye guys!” Pete yelled, and the three of them ran back to the elevator.

***

Never did Patrick imagine that being in a band could involve so much damn running, everywhere, all the time. The Beatles had to run from fans, that didn’t sound so bad to Patrick. Chasing Bloody Mary for miles around Chicago, however. Not really up his alley. Two minutes to get his heart to beat quietly enough that he could hear people talking, and the first thing he heard was that someone else was in mortal danger. Possibly he should be used to it at this point.

Patrick ran with Andy and Pete to the elevator, where they had to stop again, and he had his breath back enough to ask:

“Anyone have money for a cab?”

“Fuck!” Pete punched the elevator doors, then shook his hand out, cursing.

“I think I’ve got ten dollars on me?” Andy said, jamming his hands in his pockets. “No, wait, eleven.”

“Well,” Patrick rolled his eyes, “That should get us around the block.”

“Come on, let’s be rational about this!” Pete said as they stepped off the elevator. They kept walking, but he kept them at a forced slower pace. “I don’t think he’s in any immediate danger.”

“Why not!” Patrick asked. His nerves were frayed to the breaking point from too much running, too little sleep, and next to no information.

Pete, in response, put his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, stared him in the eyes, and said, in a soft, level voice, “Calm down.”

“You can’t force me to calm down with your bullshit fairy magic!” Patrick yelled, and Pete looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening.

“No, I won’t, but both of you are pretty on edge, so just breathe deep.” he ordered them. When neither of them obeyed, Patrick actually holding his breath in resistance, Pete sighed.

“Look, I talked to Mary last night, and I don’t think she’s gonna attack. Not yet, anyway.” Pete amended. Patrick gave him a look, desperate for more information, and when Pete didn’t offer it, he heaved a deep sigh.

“Now, just give me a second, okay?” Pete said, and walked over to a wealthy looking man carrying a briefcase and walking at a brisk pace. Patrick and Andy watched as Pete talked to the man for a minute, and then watched him return with a handful of twenty dollar bills.

“Philanthropists, gotta love em, right?” Pete said, tossing a grin directly at Patrick. Blindingly white, too charming, and Patrick had to fight the urge not to smile back.

“That’s stealing.” Andy argued.

“It is not,” Pete said, “I mean, it kind of is, but whatever, he had plenty to spare, and we’re in a hurry.”

The three of them hailed down a cab quickly and got back to the apartment in no time at all. The windows flashed by, reflecting the deceptively bright sunlight that made it look warmer out than it was. It was still freezing cold, though Patrick doubted he would be able to feel it anymore. Even though his brains weren’t melting out of his ears, his heart was still beating about a hundred miles an hour, and he was really sweaty from all of the running. Cold wasn’t much of an issue.

Back inside the apartment, Mary was struggling against the ropes and Joe was backed up against the wall, holding up a bottle of half empty Holy Water, his head tilted to the side, and wearing a fierce expression.Pete stepped forward, putting a hand on Joe’s shoulder. Joe jumped out of his skin, while Patrick hung back. After she had strangled him yesterday, he was in no mood to get next to the demon again.

“Thanks for showing up, got any bright ideas now?” Joe asked, half hysterical giggles as he looked over at Pete.

“Well,” Pete shrugged. “I mean, we can go down together at least?”

“That is NOT your plan!” Patrick yelled.

“No, that’s not my plan, um,” Pete paused, looking at Mary, struggling against her bonds. “My plan is, um. Um.”

As they stared at her, Bloody Mary broke free of her bonds, standing up and limping towards them. She stopped, just a foot in front of him and Joe, and Patrick stepped forward to stand next to them.

“As I told you, Pete, I will be going back to where I belong now, but I must take one soul back with me. Those are the rules.” Her voice scratched and grated at Patrick’s ears, but he stood tall, or as tall as he could, in front of her, despite how awful she sounded.

“I… remember.” Pete said, and Patrick looked at him, as did Andy and Joe, with varying degrees of betrayal. He gave them a half apologetic shrug. “We didn’t have time to discuss it.”

“And you remember my offer to you?” she asked. Pete stared for a second, and then nodded, solemnly.

“I remember.” His voice was a hoarse whisper when he spoke. She smiled, her ashen flesh crumbling slightly with the intensity of the smile, and then before Patrick knew it, she had her gnarled, skeletal hand wrapped around his arm, and pulled him in close to her burnt side, and onto his knees. She smelled like cooked human flesh, described as such a putrid stench in all the holocaust stories Patrick had read, when in reality it mostly smelled burnt. Not evil, just burnt. Ash flaked off of her face and fell onto his, and he bit back the urge to sob, though he heard Joe shout from her other side, where he was in the grasp of her un burnt arm.

“What are you doing?!” Pete screamed, and Mary laughed.

“I said you could choose which soul I take,” she said. “You seemed protective of this one” she shook Patrick’s arm, and he had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from bursting into tears then and there, “but you ran back to save this one,” she presumably presented Joe in the same manner, based off of his shout, “the other one you have doesn’t have a soul compatible for what I need, so pick one.”

Patrick could only see Pete’s face, and Pete looked, similarly, like he was about to cry, he met Patrick’s eyes for a brief second, then turned his gaze back upwards.

“Can I pick someone other than those two?” Pete asked. More ash flaked off and into Patrick’s hair, and his chest shook in fear.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Pete said. “I pick me.”

“What the fuck?!” Joe yelled, and Andy screamed something at him, but Patrick just glared at him. It was just like fucking Pete to do something so goddamn righteous and martyr-y, the asshole. In response to the glare, Pete smiled apologetically at Patrick, and shrugged.

The arm holding onto Patrick released, and he heard a similar thud as Joe was dropped to the floor as well. Mary stepped forward again.

“Very interesting choice, Peter. Very well then,” she croaked, and lashed out, grabbing Pete by the throat, and whisking into the bathroom. There was a loud screech, and then the familiar sound of Pete groaning, accompanied with a thunk.

“Motherfucker!”

“Pete!” Patrick scrambled into the bathroom, where Pete lay on the ground, rubbing his forehead where it had turned pink. Joe was whispering something that sounded like a prayer under his breath, but Patrick was only looking at Pete, who gave Patrick a half smile.

“This isn’t a very good hell dimension,” Pete declared.

“Tried looking up?” Joe asked, and Pete and Patrick turned up towards the mirror, which had turned black. The sound of a woman screaming and a fire crackling filled the apartment, so loud that Patrick lifted his hands to cover his ears. A set of golden eyes flickered in the mirror for just a moment, and it went back to showing their own, terrified reflections again.

They stared at the mirror in silence for a long time, and eventually, Patrick stood up shakily, pulling Pete up with him.

The four of them filed into the living room, keeping the silence. Patrick was the first to break it.

“Don’t think you’re ever getting forgiven for that, asshole,” he said at length. Pete looked over at Patrick.

“You talkin to me?” he asked.

“No fucking shit,” Patrick said.

“I’m with Patrick,” Joe said. “You’re never getting forgiven. We’re going to duct tape your mouth shut so you can never say anything that stupid ever again!”

“Okay, notice that none of us got dragged into the hell mirror!” Pete said, gesturing to himself in a flourishing motion.

“Why didn’t it work, though?” Joe asked. Pete looked down at the floor for a moment, then looked up, a sudden realization lighting up his face.

“I know!” he gasped. “When we were talking, while you guys were sleeping, she said to- to beware of my father, and he had something to do with mirrors.”

Patrick was confused at this turn of events.

“Your dad is a lawyer.” Patrick’s lips were pursed, and his eyebrows raised as he looked at Pete. Pete squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

“Yeah, well, it’s complicated.” Pete said, looking anywhere but at Patrick. “We’ll get into my parentage later, but yes, my dad is my dad, but I also have a- uh- spiritual father.”

“The creepy golden eyes in the mirror?” Joe asked.

“Quite possibly,” Pete agreed.

“No, that’s no fucking excuse,” Patrick snapped, casting his angry gaze on Pete again. “I don’t care if you have twelve magical demon mirror dads and your real mom is actually Bloody Mary, no more sacrificing yourself.”

“But I was protected by my-” Pete waved his hand around again, “Father-thing.”

“You didn’t know he would protect you, did you?” Patrick asked, determined. Pete opened his mouth, then shut it again, looking down again.

“Whatever, Pete’s a dumbass, we’re bigger dumbasses for summoning that bitch in the first place,” Joe decided. “So Andy, don’t you have an angry girlfriend to call?”

“Oh yeah, shit!” Pete said, turning to Andy rather than Patrick. “What did she talk to you about when you met her?” Patrick turned to face Andy as well, only just then thinking about how silent he had been once the danger had stopped, and how he had kept looking down and not talking to them.

“She’s pregnant,” Andy said bluntly, standing up and walking out of the room. The room grew very quiet, once again.

Patrick went to his room, shaking ashes of the three hundred years dead girl out of his hair, then laid down in bed. He fell asleep to the sound of Pete and Joe playing Silent Hill, and Andy talking to his girlfriend on the phone, to distant for Patrick to hear distinct words, but loud enough to hear that it sounded like Andy was comforting her.

It amazed him how normal all of this was.They had rescued a boy, sent a demon back into the mirror it came from, summoned the demon in the first place, almost ended up in hell with her, discovered his best friend was the child of some other mirror demon, and could still smell burnt flesh on his pillow, and yet the wildest part of the day was hearing that Andy was going to become a father. Anything, he supposed, could become commonplace.

Once Patrick had more than a few hours of sleep under his belt, waking up again at five in the afternoon, his first course of action was to shower, but the bathroom creeped him out, and he ripped the blinds down so that sunlight streamed into the room. The last thing he wanted was for Bloody Mary to change her mind and attack him while he was naked, and though he doubted sunlight would warn her away, it comforted him. The shampoo foam was gray with ashes when he lathered, and he decided, for the first time, to rinse and repeat, to make himself feel better.

Feeling decidedly better in non-ashy clothes, Patrick noticed Andy sitting on the couch, and sat down next to him.

“Hey,” Patrick said. Andy looked up, without even feigning towards a smile, and said “hey” in return.

“Having a kid?” Patrick said, not looking directly at Andy.

“Yeah,” Andy said.

“Hey, congrats,” Patrick said. Andy snorted.

“Congrats?” he asked.

“I mean, Anna had a pregnancy scare once,” Patrick began, looking at Andy’s reflection in the tv rather than at Andy. “And as scary as it was, kids are still kids, man.”

“I’m not ready for kids,” Andy said.

“But you didn’t break up with her.”

“I don’t want to,” Andy said. “I love her. And I’ll love the kid too, I think, it’s just scary.”

“It is scary,” Patrick agreed. “But I mean- all this crazy shit is happening and kids are still the wildest thing to happen today. I mean, I know the whole miracle thing sounds kinda lame, but yeah. Children are still incredible.”

“We’re in a band, Patrick,” Andy whined. “We’ll be on the road, all the time. I can’t raise a kid.”

“Dude,” Patrick turned and faced Andy, looking into his eyes. “You’ll be fine.”

Andy stared into his eyes for a long time, and then nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! Thanks as always for reading!!! I think now that I've done it three times in a row it is safe to say that I am posting one chapter per month!!!!! Yay for schedules!!!! April will be Early Sunsets Over Monroevia, which, warning, features My Chemical Romance, more specifically, a helluva lot of mikey way. Also, about the whole pregnancy thing, tell me what you think in the comments! Like andrea? dislike her? don't want a kid fic? let me know all of your thoughts, or sent me a tumblr message if you really wanna yell at me and don't wanna do it in the comments. Url is cawmrseagull.
> 
> On a more exciting note. falloutbliss, formerly prettyanarchist, posted an edit for this story on tumblr!!! I'd like to thank her SOOO MUCH for that, it's the raddest thing I've ever seen and i kinda want to frame it. So, if you ever feel the urge to make fanart, edits, fanmixes, spin off stories, etc, put them under the tag The High Way to Hell on tumblr (high way to hell without the "the" gets a little AC/DC) or send me a message. Seeing work based off of my work is the most exciting thing ever. Also, check the tag to see the amazing edit!! it's super cool! 
> 
> Love all of you guys!


	9. Early Sunsets Over Monrovia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on their first year at Warped, the boys make an unpleasant discovery, and a new friend with whom they need the 'special' help of to save a small, country town from its zombie infestation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title by My Chemical Romance (Embellished by acareeroutofrobbingbanks)

“Hey.” Mikey stood next to where Gerard had passed out on the ground. The bus was cool and dark and dead silent, without even anyone snoring. It felt like a tomb, but that could be attributed in part to the crawling sensation under Mikey’s skin. He had opened the window, and dark orange sunlight was streaming through, right onto his brother’s face. That might explain why Gerard was squirming around, his face screwed up in pain.

“What?” he finally groaned.

“Get up,” Mikey sighed, glaring down at Gerard. He sat up, rubbing his head and squinting at Mikey.

“What fucking time is it?” he asked, sleep still coloring his voice.

“I dunno, five,” Mikey shrugged. Gerard opened his mouth, but winced, wriggling out of the stream of sunlight, and leaning his head back down onto the ground.

“‘s too early,” he said, muffled. Mikey kicked him in the side, not to hurt, but hard enough to make Gerard groan and look up, eyes full of primitive looking anger.

“Mikey!” he snapped, eyes narrowed. “Five AM, or PM?”

“AM,” Mikey said. “This is important.”

“Fuck off!” Gerard yelled, lifting the collar of his shirt up so that it covered his face.

“Gerard, I need to talk to you!” Mikey was pleading now, pushing his hands deep into his pockets until he felt his waistband slipping. He always reacted inwards. “Please get up.”

Gerard stood, slowly, smelling heavily of alcohol, but his eyes looked clear enough to Mikey. He stared at him head on, and Mikey took his hand, gripping it tightly and pulling him off the bus.

The sun had just begun rising, and no one was outside. In fact, there weren’t even other tour buses outside. The bus driver had told Mikey that they took a wrong turn, ended up a little off course, and she had paused to look at the map on the little country road outside of Indianapolis. Mikey pulled Gerard onto the shoulder of the highway, the air only slightly warm in the early morning. Gerard shivered.

“Can you feel it?” Mikey asked. Gerard’s eyes snapped to his, fully alert now.

“Did you- was there an accident?” he asked, his breathing labored, his pupils blown.

“No,” Mikey said firmly. “This isn’t me.”

“Then what the hell is it?” Gerard asked, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth into a snarl. “How many stiffs are there then?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know! That’s why I woke you up! Something’s wrong!”

Gerard thought about this, chewing on his bottom lip while he looked at Mikey. He looked down the highway, the opposite direction of Indianapolis, then looked back.

“If it wasn’t you, it’s none of our business,” he decided.

“Gerard!” Mikey practically yelled, and Gerard shushed him.

“Whoever did this can sort it out on their own,” he said.

“You can feel this! Do you know how big of a problem it has to be if we can feel it before we can see it? We have to help!”

“ _No_ ,” Gerard’s voice raised finally, his eyes darkened. “It isn’t our problem. They can figure it out. You know what they said, we have to forget about it.”

“But it could be-”  
“Not our problem.”

Gerard walked back onto the bus, leaving Mikey to stare down the highway. And even as the sun crept higher, warming up the air around him, Mikey still felt chilled to the core. Something was very, very wrong.

***

“Zombies?” Joe was bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning like an idiot. It wasn’t something he should be excited about, but leave it to Joe to surprise everyone like that. “Real live zombies?”  
“No, not alive, dumbass,” Patrick said, “How the fuck do you think zombies work?”

“ _Living_ dead, Patrick,” Joe thumped him on the back of his head, but it seemed his excitement could not be contained. “Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, okay?” Pete was lounging in the back of the van, his hair rumpled, scanning but not actually reading an old, battered book. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure what the title was, but it was by Aleister Crowley, and he seemed like a serious asshole. He was trying to catch up on magic shit really fast, because they had, apparently, a zombie invasion to deal with.

“But have you _seen_ a zombie?” Joe asked, vibrating right next to Pete. Pete shoved him away with his flat palm.

“No,” he said. “But have my sources led us astray yet?”

“Magic vampire well ringing any bells?” Andy asked.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Pete sighed. He tossed the book aside, and stretched. Patrick looked slightly gray and rather like a sleepwalker, and even Pete had to admit that it was way too fucking early.

“So we’re going after zombies?” Joe asked, the antithesis of Patrick as he looked alert and eager.

“Yup,” Pete popped out the word. “Tiny little country town called Monroevia, where their one cemetery is filled with the dead coming back to life. It’s where I asked the driver to stop for gas.”

“Why are we disappearing on her?” Andy asked, sounding almost bored.

“We’re getting some fresh air.” Pete told them. Everyone sighed at the feeble excuse, but, Pete decided, when you ask the man who _can't lie_ to lie for you, that was what you deserved.

“‘s too early for zombies,” Patrick protested. Joe told him that it was never too early for zombies, and they all piled out of the van. The van, which now featured a driver, a very exciting new feature. Though, the driver made them need to hide their weapons from her. She might question the guns and knives and swords (Pete’s request).

Joe, who never got excited, was bouncing up and down in excitement. He didn’t have a real gun holster, so he just shoved the barrel of the gun he had inherited down the front of his jeans.

“I really hope you have the safety on, because that is one place you don’t want to get shot,” Pete said, chuckling at the sight of the gun.

“I don’t think this kind of gun has a safety,” Joe said, though he did re-angle the gun so that it was pointing towards the outside of his thigh. Pete nodded approvingly.

“Man, I wish we were driving,” Joe lamented, practically running circles around Patrick and Andy, “I’ve got a zombie apocalypse cassette-”

“What for?” Pete asked. Joe gave him a disgusted look.

“For a zombie apocalypse, what do you think?” he snorted.

“It is not an apocalypse!” Pete laughed. He felt a little giddy himself, at the thought of something as cool and completely unbelievable as ZOMBIES.

After a few minutes, they were walking down the barren country road, the early morning mist swirling around their ankles. The entire town seemed to be asleep, with all of the stores (and there weren’t many) closed, and no cars on the road, so the four of them could walk down the chipped white centerline. There was no noise, save for a small wind that caused the flags in the down to make angry snapping sounds as they blew  Joe did pause.

“Where are we going?” he asked. Pete shrugged.

“I was just gonna have us walk around for a bit, see if we can attract the undead with the scent of Patrick’s flesh. Again,” Pete laughed, pushing Patrick a little. Patrick sighed heavily, looking up at the sky.

“I really wish you were lying,” he said. Pete barely felt a twinge of guilt. He was elated by the early morning, the prospect of adventure, and the blissful freedom for the entirety of the time they would spend on Warped Tour from their prospective girlfriends.

The testosterone laden apartment was- no longer very testosterone laden. The further the pregnancy got, the more time Andrea spent with Andy. Which was pretty odd, because Pete didn’t think two people could spend more than one hundred percent of their time together, and yet, the two of them did.

It seemed that Andy had moved in with Andrea, in a really nice apartment, Andy had said, but Pete had never been invited over, nor did he particularly want to be. He liked Andrea well enough, but he didn’t want to be around whatever weird couple-y parenting instincts were taking over. Patrick had been over. To set up a crib. Pete didn’t think he was emotionally mature enough to help them out with painting nurseries. But anyway, Andy lived with her. And she came to every show. And she came over to the apartment to hang out. And they went grocery shopping together. In fact, aside from when she went to work, they were never apart.

On top of that, Anna and Patrick seemed to be perpetually in the honeymoon stage, and she had much more free time to spend entirely in their living room, eating Pete’s food, during the summer. And seriously, the girl was shorter than Patrick, her bladder can’t have been that big, and yet she managed to drink seven cans of HIS Mountain Dew the last time she came over, and was only over for three hours!

The last week before the left for Warped was the worst, in which Marie came to visit from New York. Estrogen didn’t settle well with Pete at the same time as low blood sugar. (Thanks, Anna)

Guy time sounded very appealing to him, even if guy time meant battling to the death/redeath with zombies.

The good news, Pete decided, was that in this creepy, foggy small town, they were definitely going to hear whatever may be coming from literally a mile away. Which they did.

“Someone’s coming,” Andy said sharply, lifting his face up to the sky, and turning sharply to the right, where a small road led to another highway, presumably.

“What’s it sound like?” Joe asked excitedly. Andy frowned, cocking his head.

“It sounds like someone walking,” Andy said. “Not like, shambling or anything.”

“Maybe they don’t shamble?” Pete suggested. “I don’t fucking know, man, maybe the zombies are fast.”

“It’s got a human gait,” Andy said stubbornly, “And only one person.”

“I wish I could hear like that,” Patrick sighed, wistful. Pete was still looking at Andy, who was standing very still, listening intently. Joe cast Andy a self conscious side eye, then focused himself as well, trying to hear whatever Andy was hearing. Pete turned to Patrick, smiled, and shrugged, because there wasn’t much they could do for the moment.

Suddenly, both Joe and Andy looked sharply in the direction of a small line of trees by the road side.

“You heard it?” Andy asked.

“No shit,” Joe said, and the two of them stepped sideways, blocking Pete and Patrick from the trees. Pete peered around Joe’s shoulder, and saw indistinguishable movement just at the edge of the trees, obscured by the fog. Joe took in a sharp breath.

“What is it?” Patrick asked, and both Andy and Joe shushed him immediately. Patrick and Pete were still looking around Joe and Andy’s shoulders when whatever it was came closer, and Pete could get a better look.

He wasn’t underwhelmed at all by the sight of the zombie. For the first time, it was exactly what he had imagined.

Skeleton peeking through, and rotted flesh and clothes hanging off the corpse, which definitely was shambling, for the record. Its jaw hung slack as though it were perpetually screaming, and it’s eyes, half rotted away, bulged out. Exactly what Pete had imagined, and every bit as terrifying.

“Well,” Patrick let out a tiny laugh, “I mean, it, ah, probably won’t be too hard to take him down, right?”

“There are more,” Joe said.

Pete’s eyes were drawn down to a flicker of movement at his waist, where Patrick had pulled the long knife out of the sheath he had made, painstakingly, out of old belts. He gripped the knife tight in his right hand, and Pete felt suddenly very vulnerable without having grabbed a real weapon first. Joe and Patrick seemed to have the right idea- he couldn’t very well walk through a small country town with a sword strapped to his back.

“So,” Joe said, his voice even, but thin. “That thing is definitely walking towards us. Any suggestions?”

“Zombies, right?” Andy said. “So we just, you know, shoot them in the head?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have a gun!” Joe said, frantically. Andy stared at him for a few moments, before Joe said; “Oh, right.”

Joe yanked the gun out from his waistband, and with no hesitation, took aim and fired. Pete flinched back and covered his mouth as he heard the crunch of bullet on bone, and watched the corpse collapse onto the ground.

“Great, just keep doing that, and-” Patrick cut himself off as the zombie that had just been shot in the head stood back up, the joints in its neck audibly cracking from across the road.

“What?” Andy whispered. It began shambling forward again, and by then, Pete could clearly see the other zombies following behind it. The sun had just begun to rise, and was coloring the fog orange, almost red. Like blood, Pete couldn’t help but think.

“I mean, running seems like a pretty logical idea right now,” Joe said. “No pressure or anything, but we could definitely run.”

“Patrick, your knife,” Andy said, stretching his hand out behind him. But Patrick, whether out of stubborn pride or just seriously misconstruing Andy’s words, pushed past Andy and Joe and ran up to the zombie.

“Patrick!” Pete ran forward with the others, as Patrick slashed through the air.

At first, it looked like Patrick had missed, until the head rolled backwards, still connected by some sort of threads at the back. Spinal cord, Pete realized, staring at the silvery threads that prevented the head from falling all the way off.

Patrick stood there for a moment, looking perplexed more than anything else, when the arms of the creature wrapped around his waist, and he started screaming and kicking and pushing the thing’s chest trying to get it off of him, but he only managed to slough some of the flesh off of the bones, still clinging tightly to him, wrapped around him.

Pete had an annoying habit of growing tunnel vision whenever Patrick was in danger, seeing him and only him, and heedless of the words (screams) of warning (threats) from Andy and Joe, he grabbed the skeletal hands and ripped them off of Patrick, yanking Patrick away, though he lost his balance and both of them tumbled to the pavement.

“HOW DID EITHER OF YOU MAKE IT TO THE LEGAL VOTING AGE?!” Andy screamed, while Joe, judging by the flesh on flesh thumping sound, was beating the much abused zombie back. Pete stared down at Patrick.

“You’re an idiot,” Pete breathed, his chest heaving.

“You’re one to talk,” Patrick replied, still wide eyed.

“Okay, I really think we should get going now!” Joe said. “Our nearly headless pal has a lot of colleagues.”

“Yeah, running,” Pete agreed, scrambling back to his feet. “I’m good at running.”

By the time he looked up and away from Patrick, the zombies, at least five of them, in various states of physical decay, were mere feet from them.

“The problem with not feeling rushed,” Pete said, half hysterical and talking to keep calm, “Is that it’s kind of like the tortoise and the hare, you know? The hare doesn’t think he has to go fast and then the tortoise just keeps coming and eventually the tortoise murders the hare and savagely feasts on it’s flesh.”

“I don’t think that’s how the fable goes, Pete,” Andy said. They were walking backwards, just a few steps faster than the zombies. “Also, is it just me, or are the walking faster?”

“Don’t say that!” Patrick whined, “Oh Christ, don’t say that.”

At that moment, a very unfortunate thing happened. Patrick tripped on a beer can left in the middle of the road, falling flat on his ass. Pete decided, as the zombies all lunged at him, that Andy was right, they were definitely getting faster. Joe dragged Patrick back up before any of them could get to him, and said; “Let’s just run for real.”

The four of them took off at a sprint back down the road, and Andy yelled: “I told you they were getting faster!” as even Pete could hear the footsteps thundering on the road behind him.

The biggest problem with running in a group of the four of them were the disparities in general running ability, that being, Andy could leave them all in the dust, and Patrick spent most of high school actively skipping gym class. Pete’s career had been dependent on soccer not too long ago, so he was close behind Joe, despite the werewolf powers, but they were relatively spread out as a unit.

Later, and frankly, even while they were running, Pete wished he would have stayed behind with Patrick to watch out for him, to make sure he wasn’t alone, enveloped in the throng, but whatever he thought, Pete’s muscles were fairly insistent upon saving himself.

Far ahead, Pete saw Andy break down the door of what looked like the most dilapidated pizza place he had ever seen. There was no time to question the plan, so he ran forward, barrelling into the building a few seconds later, just in front of Joe.

“Patrick?” Andy asked. Pete stepped out of the door again, facing the road they’d come from with his heart in his throat when Patrick slammed into him, panting heavily.

“Dude, chill,” he said, his voice muffled by the tight hug Pete had pulled him into.

“Okay, we need a plan,” Andy said.

“Plan for what?” Joe asked.

“Well, we can’t let zombies just run loose around this town! People could get hurt!”

“Yeah, okay, but these zombies are impossible to kill!” Joe argued.

“Technically, they’re already dead,” Patrick said. Joe gave him a look. Pete snorted, and covered his mouth.

“We still have to try,” Andy said. “Patrick didn’t cut its head all the way off, maybe that’s what we have to do.”

“Want me to try again?” Patrick asked, and they all yelled in unison- “NO!”

“You didn’t sever the spinal cord,” Pete said. “Maybe that’ll work.”

“But it has nothing to do with the brain, because I shot one in the head,” Joe argued.

“Well that’s not a very powerful gun, maybe the bullet didn’t go all the way through?” Andy suggested. The two of them began to discuss ideas, rather than arguing, which still made Pete smile. The two of them hadn’t really fought since H.H. Holmes, and they seemed completely over the prejudices they started with.

Pete began to look around the derelict restaurant. Faded yellow letters above the menu proclaimed itself to be “Dawg House Pizza.” There were deep fryer vats filled with stale looking oil that were probably the cause of a disgusting scent wafting through the restaurant. Probably there were knives.

“I bet there are knives here!” Pete declared, running back behind the counter. He began searching, followed by the rest of his band.

“I found pizza cutters,” Joe sighed eventually. “Lots of pizza cutters.”

“Cutting a zombie’s head off with a pizza cutter would be very metal,” Pete advised him.

“Let’s try it,” Andy said, grabbing one of them.

When they returned to the door, they zombies were waiting on the street, staring at the restaurant but not approaching. Pete had one of the pizza cutters in his right hand, though it was hard to grip from how sweaty he was.

“Let’s do this,” Joe said, opening the door. He shot a glance at Patrick, but said nothing about Patrick adjusting the grip on his knife and following them. There was no doubt Patrick had the best weapon, but that was probably for the best.

More organized, and more prepared, they ran forward. The group of zombies was only four, and Andy sliced through the brainstem of the first before the rest of them had even reached the group. He tore apart a second, and Joe the third, Pete holding the arms back of the last one while Patrick cut deeper, splattering Pete with the sticky, long dead blood.

“Gross,” Pete declared, shoving the no longer animate corpse off of him. “Well, nice work and all, I thought zombies were going to be much more of a-”

“BEHIND YOU!” Patrick screamed, lunging forward, but even as he moved Pete felt the sharp sensation of teeth driving into his shoulder. He groaned in pain, stumbling forward and falling to his knees on the road.

Pete’s vision was blurry and red tinted, and he could feel the his shoulder throbbing too hard, impossibly hard. He could hear it in his head like a kick drum right next to his ears, and he pulled a hand he hadn’t known he had moved in front of his face, seeing it stained black.

“Oh my god,” he whimpered, trembling. He clung to the ground with his hand, as though he were afraid it would disappear from beneath him. He could distantly hear Patrick still yelling his name and Joe cursing and Andy saying something about the shoulder being so close to the heart, and Pete felt like he might pass out.

“Hey.” A new voice, right in front of Pete. He looked up from his hand, still dripping black like tar, and faced the new voice, who looked distinctly calm under a pair of glasses.

Pete tried to ask “Who are you?” but was incapable of more than a whining noise that he hoped sounded like a question. The bite didn’t hurt that badly, not nearly as bad as when he had broken his ankle, even, but he was too panicked to even breathe properly.

“My name is Mikey Way,” he said, one hand covering Pete’s on the pavement, his skin cool and smooth. “And I’m here to save your life.”

***

Mikey shouldn’t have done anything. Gerard was going to find out, and he was going to kill him. He shouldn’t have done it. But he had, and here he was.

He shouldn’t have gone down to the town against his brother’s wishes, shouldn’t have tried to find out what could possibly be causing a feeling that strong. It had winded him to be in the same city as whatever was going on, he had to know why. But then, he saw he wasn’t alone.

He really, really should have stayed then. Some other idiots could take care of it. But the way they faced the zombies, the way that the one boy, the pretty one, ran forward to save his friend without a second thought- it was heroic. He was stunned by how much he couldn’t help but see them as comic book heroes, heard them arguing in the pizza place about how to kill the zombies, and never saying it wasn’t their problem. (Which it wasn’t.)

They were heroes. The Justice League, in a shitty pop punk band. And Mikey couldn’t not keep watching.

He definitely shouldn’t have stayed when one of them got bitten.

“Leave,” he said, his voice awash with power, and he heard the zombie shambling away, all the while  not breaking eye contact with the one on his knees, Pete, he’d heard them say. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said to Pete, “But you need to keep breathing for me, alright?”

Pete nodded at him, albeit weakly. Mikey leaned in close to him, nodding supportively.

"Let's get out of the street, yeah? It’ll be harder for them to get to us inside,” At least, Mikey really hoped so. The band behind Pete nodded, seeming happy to have someone taking charge. Maybe Pete was the leader, he didn’t know. But he knelt down then, scooping Pete up with arms under his knees and his back. He was heavier than Mikey had imagined, but not too heavy for him.

“I can help if you want,” the little one, Patrick, said. Mikey shook his head.

“I’ve got it,” he said, shifting Pete’s weight, and Pete moaned. Mikey looked down at his face, where he was biting his lip, tears falling out of the corner of his eyes, though he was clearly trying to hold them back. He looked still very, strikingly brave, to Mikey.

One of them led him to the busted open doors of Dawg House Pizza, and Mikey went in, lying Pete down on a hard plastic table. He looked up at Mikey, panic in his eyes.

“I- I don’t-” he struggled to speak, trying to make it sound like he wasn’t crying, and the sound tugged at Mikey’s heart. He really shouldn’t be here, but there was no way he could leave.

“You’re not gonna die,” Mikey promised, convincing himself as much as the guy lying on the table. Pete whimpered when he heard this, and Mikey shook his head. “You’re not gonna be like them either. I’m gonna help you.”

Mikey did have a plan. It wasn’t a good plan, but it was a plan. He pulled Pete’s shirt of, and turned to face the band.

“One of you, get over here and suck the venom out of the wound, and for fuck’s sake please don’t swallow it.” All of them turned to the dorky looking guy with tattoos, who rolled his eyes and said: “Yeah, okay.”

“You suck the venom out,” Mikey demanded, and tattoo guy got on his knees under the table, clamping his jaw on Pete’s shoulder. Pete screamed, and Mikey winced. “Okay, yeah, that’ll hurt, no time to give you a rag to bite down on.”

“It’s not coming out!” tattoo guy yelled, pulling away from Pete’s shoulder.

“It will in a minute,” Mikey promised. He stared at Pete’s chest for a second, a little distracted by it. He was really, really pretty, with tattoos and a nipple ring, Jesus. He had to focus.

Mikey placed both of his hands directly over where he hoped Pete’s heart was. He always heard slightly to the left, but sometimes he heard the center, so he held his hands very slightly to the left of the sternum, and pressed down hard, closing his eyes.

“ _ **SI POST FATA VENIT GLORIA NON PROPERO**_ ,” he could dimly hear his own voice echoing in his ears, as what felt like icy black waves washed over his head, down his spine, through his arms and out through his hands. “ _ **SI POST FATA VENIT GLORIA NON PROPERO**_ ,” he had to focus on saying it now, the dark, icy energy almost overcoming him.

“ _ **SI POST FATA VENIT GLORIA NON PROPERO**_!” he was probably yelling, trying so hard to get the words out because the words were all he could focus on, all he could do to keep this centered and the power going in one direction, pushing out and sucking in. He’d never done this before, but to his pleasant surprise, it was fairly intuitive.

At last, he pushed Pete’s face, screwed up and trying not to cry, to the forefront of his brain, focusing on it with all of his might, and yanked himself back, falling to the ground and breathing heavily. He stood up, shaking so hard that this made the standing a tremendous task. And Pete stood up as well.

The tattoo guy was wiping his mouth, and there was a puddle of black on the floor, with some red mixed in.

“I went until the blood was pure,” tattoo guy told him. “Was that good enough?”

“That’s great,” Mikey said, and Patrick grabbed Pete, hugging him tightly. Pete nodded into his shoulder, and then pulled back. Pete stared at Mikey for a long time, the tear tracks dried on his face, his expression now smooth and impassive. The two of them stared at each other for a long time, what felt like forever, certainly enough time for Mikey to imagine a million questions that Pete might ask him. He didn’t imagine, however, the one thing Pete did ask.

“What did that thing you said mean?”

“What?” Mikey shook his head, confused by the lack of, he didn’t know, screaming, maybe. He’d seen Gerard do similar stuff, and it looked pretty terrifying. The black glow, the gaping mouth, the twitching. He’d never seen it on himself, obviously, but still.

“It’s Latin, right?” Pete asked. “I mean, I was pre-law, I know a bit of Latin.” Mikey stared.

“Yes,” he said at long last. “It was Latin.”

“So what did it mean?” Pete asked, cocking his head and staring directly into Mikey’s eyes with a look that gave Mikey the uneasy sensation that Pete knew a lot from that look.

“‘If glory comes after death, I’m not in a hurry,’” he said. “Means I’m not willing to die to be a hero. I don’t know, I found it in the back of some old book.”

“Is it important?” Pete asked.

“Not at all,” Mikey lied smoothly. “It sounds cool, Latin’s a dead language, I deal with dead shit, and I need to say something to keep me focused.”

“What did you do?” Patrick asked, and when Mikey turned to him he saw a glimmer of the fear he expected, but not much.

“I- I should go,” Mikey said.

Pete called after him, maybe some of the others did too, but Mikey bolted out the door. The zombie problem wasn’t gone, but this was too dangerous, way too dangerous.

He ran all the way back to the bus, slammed the door when he got on, only to find that no one was awake yet.

***

Way too much had happened to Joe by only nine in the morning. For example, his bassist and one of his best friends almost dying and/or turning into a zombie. Watching some kid have a seizure or something and then Pete, crying but being okay again. Getting back to the bus before he usually woke up. And then, after all that, finding out that Patrick ate the last of the chocolate chip pop tarts.

“Patrick, what the fuck?” Joe asked, a pain in his chest growing from the personal wrong.

“I thought they were for everyone!” Patrick said absently, plucking out a song on guitar.

“No!” Joe yelled, clutching the empty box to his chest. “No, Patrick, why the hell would I buy pop tarts for anyone but myself?”

“Sorry,” Patrick said, though he didn’t even sound sorry. Bastard. Andy declared that he was going back to bed, and Pete was- staring absently at the wall. Maybe Joe should be concerned, but he was still too pissed off.

“What am I supposed to eat for breakfast now?” he demanded, and Patrick shrugged, useless. As Joe was rummaging through the cupboards, he noticed green goo on his hands, and winced, deciding maybe he should shower first.

By the time he was done, they had approximately no time at all to get ready for their show, which, lucky them, they had drawn the lottery to play as soon as the gates opened. The crowd was nuts, and the energy was amazing, and, being Warped, the show ended way too soon.

Afterwards, Joe had every intention of heading back to the bus to sleep for at least another few hours, but Pete stopped them.

“Mikey Way,” he said, “Is in My Chemical Romance. They’re playing this stage next, and we should watch.”

“Why do you want to watch?” Patrick asked, and Joe felt inclined to agree with him.

“Because,” Pete said, “I don’t think we killed the zombies all the way, and we need Mikey’s help.”

“Hey,” Joe was affronted, “I realize that you were a little busy earlier, but we totally ripped those zombies to shreds.

“Where were the bodies when we left the restaurant?” Pete asked. Joe went silent, trying to remember where the bodies were, but he couldn’t remember any bodies in the road when they left. If they had been there, they would have had to remove them, hide them.

“How could they live through that?” Joe asked.

“I don’t think these are just ordinary zombies,” Pete said darkly.

“What?” Joe snorted. “Extreme zombies?”

“Pete raises a good point,” Andy said. “We should go back.”

“What would kill them, then?” Patrick asked. “If they aren’t dependent on their brains?”

“That’s why we need to talk to him,” Pete said, and Joe followed his gaze up onto the stage. It was definitely the guy from earlier, looking directly down at his bass as he played it.

The four of them stood in the back, staring up at the stage, far enough away that they weren’t caught in the throng of screaming fans. The singer looked pissed off, and a little drunk, and the music was loud and angry and fast.

After the set, Joe turned to Pete, bored and expectant.

“How do you suggest we get to him now that they’re done?” Joe asked, and Pete made a face, wrinkling up his nose.

“Didn’t think about that,” he said. “Let’s just try following them, see where it gets us?”

Joe was fully prepared to tell Pete that this was a terrible, awful idea, but Pete was leading them around the back, Andy sighing softly. Joe shot him a grin, and Andy returned it, the two of them falling into step.

“It’s not even noon yet,” Joe lamented, “How long can this day possibly go on?”

“Forever, probably,” Andy sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and wincing when he saw the screen, before putting it back.

“Trouble in paradise?” Joe teased.

“Andrea’s great,” Andy said, smiling tightly. “She’s just really great, all the time, and I haven’t been away from her for more than a few hours in months before now.”

“She’s freaking out,” Joe guessed, “But you like being alone?”

“I don’t get it,” Andy said, looking miserable. “I love being with her, and I never minded the constant togetherness, until we weren’t constantly together, and now she will not stop texting me!”

“Pregnancy brain, man,” Joe said. “I’ve had relatives go totally nuts when they were pregnant.”

“I’m not being an asshole for ignoring her?” he asked. Joe snatched the phone from out of Andy’s pocket, slipping it into his own, and grinning over at Andy.

“You were really busy,” he said, “So busy that you didn’t even notice when your phone was stolen.” Andy shot him a grateful smile, as Pete yelled: “There, right there!”

Mikey, whose head was bobbing, probably listening to music, looked up and over, his eyes widening when he saw Fall Out Boy approaching him, and turned, walking in a different direction.

“Oh no you don’t,” Pete muttered, picking up speed and tailing Mikey as he snaked through the crowds and merch booths. Joe followed him, heaving a sigh, and trying to ignore the sounds of screaming teenagers everywhere.

“Hey!” Pete yelled, and grabbed Mikey’s shoulder, pulling him around. Mikey yanked earbuds out of his ears, took Pete’s arm, and pulled him in between two merch booths, where the rest of the band followed.

“Why are you following me?” Mikey hissed, his eyes flashing angrily. Joe stepped almost imperceptibly backwards, the memory of his shaking and screaming in Latin still fresh in his mind.

“You can’t just walk away after something like that!” Pete declared, and Mikey rolled his eyes.

“Apparently I can, because I did,” he said. He yanked his arm out of Pete’s grasp suddenly, as though he had forgotten it was there. “Do you want something?”

“I want- er, we want you to come with us,” Pete declared, and Joe’s eyes flickered to him at the slip. Mikey appeared not to have noticed. “Back to Monrovia,” he elaborated, and Mikey grew stiff.

“No way in hell,” he said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have been there this morning, and I can’t go now.

“Why not?” Pete pleaded. “Look, the zombies didn’t stay dead. We have to figure out what’s going on and stop them at the source before it gets too bad.”

“You don’t HAVE to do anything!” Mikey yelled, then looked around furtively, and lowered his voice. “You don’t have to do anything,” he repeated.

“It’s kind of what we do, man,” Andy said, shrugging. “We fight monsters. Save people. It’s kind of our gig.”

“Playing music’s just not enough for you?” Mikey scoffed. “Look, you guys can go be heroic or whatever, but leave me out of it.”

“How’d you do it?” Pete asked. Mikey froze, and his eyes slid closed.

“I- it’s hard to describe,” Mikey said, and as he opened his mouth to speak again, Joe twisted his head to the side. Possibly no one else heard it, but he could hear from a long ways away. Someone was yelling Mikey’s name, and they sounded unhappy. Somewhat slurred.

“Maybe we should keep talking somewhere else,” Andy suggested mildly, something Joe recognized no longer as superior, but as a forced calm, to keep situations in some measure of control. He used to hate Andy’s calm voice.

“Good plan,” Joe said, and gave Pete a meaningful look. Pete nodded, and they moved further back, pressed up against the fence behind some band’s tent.

“What were you even doing in Monrovia?” Patrick asked, and Mikey looked up at the sky pleadingly.

“Look, I helped you guys out, can I just go now?” he asked, half whining.

“Yeah, Monrovia’s not even near Noblesville!” Pete yelled, seeming to have just noticed it. Mikey bounced on the balls of his feet, looking around for an escape.

“How did you know where we were?” Joe asked, suddenly growing suspicious as well.

“I was trying to help,” Mikey mumbled, peering over Joe’s shoulder at the gap between the tents.

“Why didn’t you show up until after the zombies were down?” Patrick asked.

“We’re not gonna hold you here, you can leave,” Pete said, gesturing his arm outwards, “But we’re going back to Monrovia, and we’re going to take out this zombie thing one way or another-”

“Then you’re bigger idiots than I took you for!” Mikey snapped, his voice sharp. Joe, along with the rest of his back, lurched back in surprise at the suddenly intense expression on Mikey’s face. “Do you have any idea what those things are? You call them zombies, but do you know? They’re reanimated corpses, reanimated by whom, I don’t know, but I watched them for longer than you, and whatever curse that whoever used makes them get progressively stronger. That kind of virus won’t turn you, or I wouldn’t be able to help you- it just kills you. With any luck, they’ll turn on their creator, and die out in the woods or something.”

Mikey was breathing heavily by the time he finished, and Joe was, above all, perplexed.

“How do you know all of that?” Pete breathed out, wide eyed and mystified. Mikey groaned loudly, running his hands through his hair.

“Because I’m a necromancer!” he hissed, chest heaving. “Not like whoever made those things, I just raise the dead sometimes on accident when I’m upset sometimes.”

“And you were able to stop the bite because it was going to kill me?” Pete said. His eyes were still the size of saucers.

“How do you know you didn’t make those things on accident, then?” Joe asked, and Mikey rolled his eyes.

“I would know if they were mine, okay? Now will you please not do something stupid?”

“Oh no,” Joe scoffed, “We’re still taking out the zombie problem. I’ve waited my whole life to do something this cool.” Mikey turned to Joe, his gaze icy cold.

“You think this is cool?” he asked. Joe opened his mouth to retaliate, but Andy stepped between them.

“You raise the dead sometimes?” he asked. Mikey nodded, breathing deeply and pushing his glasses higher up his nose.

“Okay,” Andy said, nodding. His emotions were nearly as infectious as Pete’s when he took charge, and Joe could feel the group of them relaxing. “Does that mean you can also put them back?”

Mikey gulped.

Twenty minutes later, Joe was behind the wheel again, on the highway heading towards Monrovia. Or, technically, Indianapolis first, so that they could stop and pick up a map. Mikey was staring out of the back window so plaintively that Joe felt guilty, almost feeling like he had a hostage, but Mikey did, technically, come of his own free will, though he couldn’t confirm whether or not Pete had anything to do with it. Pete had definitely had to convince him, but Joe hoped he hadn’t had to go all glow-y eyed. He didn’t like the idea of bringing along the guy under mind control.

As the skyline approached, Joe and Andy and Patrick all fell back into the usual pattern of themselves, sans Pete, who was leaning close to Mikey and talking to him, giving him small and encouraging smiles every now and then. Joe imagined they should try and involve the two of them in the conversation, but it didn’t particularly look like Mikey wanted to talk to them, so he let it rest.

They had to buy more than one map at the gas station before they found one that actually included Monrovia. (“Seriously,” Patrick had looked almost afraid, “How small is this town?”) Once the map was in hand, though, the route seemed fairly simple. Patrick demanded that he turn on the radio, then groaned when Highway to Hell started playing. Remembering the pop tart, Joe turned it up, trying to make his voice as scratchy as the ancient AC/DC recording. They made it back to the town in under twenty minutes, and to Joe’s surprise, it didn’t look much more alive than it had when they were there at five or six in the morning. A few cars were in every parking lot, but it still looked largely desolate.

“But the real problem here,” Patrick said, leaning on the dashboard, “Is how will we be able to tell the zombies from the citizens?”

“Your first step would be to find the cemetery, or a funeral home.” Mikey raised his eyebrows at them, as though it were obvious. Joe bristled slightly.

“Right, well, I doubt this town has a welcome center,” he said. “Any ideas?”

“We could go ask at the pizza place and simultaneously see if they actually cleaned up the blood stain I left,” Pete suggested. Joe nodded, and zipped up to the closest parking space to the door of Dawg House Pizza.

“We all going in?” Joe asked, and Pete nodded. Joe jumped out, slamming the door shut, and the five of them walked inside together. Pete told them to sit down, and asked if they wanted pizza, to which Joe said “always.”

Joe watched Pete up at the counter, leaning over and very obviously flirting with the girl working there for a minute, could hear the deeply resonate charmspeak from all the way back where they were sitting. He walked back with what Joe strongly suspected was a receipt for free food, and a smug grin on his face.

“There is only one cemetery in town,” Pete announced. “In the back of a tiny ass church, is an even tinier cemetery, with ancient looking tombstones. Sound like what we’re looking for?”

“Funeral homes?” Mikey asked.

“I didn’t ask.” Pete shrugged. “She said that she’d seen a lot of strange lights there last week, and that her friends had mentioned weird noises and experiences for the past few days.”

“Weird experiences such as?” Patrick sounded skeptical. Joe leaned in next to him, inclined to agree.

“She just said weird experiences,” Pete admitted. “But it’s worth looking at, yeah?”

“That sounds like a terrible plan,” Mikey said. “Is this it? Do you guys just like, hear a rumor about something weird going down and then swoop in, go through some crazy near death shenanigans, and save the day in time for dinner?”

“Man, it’s usually breakfast time when we’re done,” Joe said, but he was grinning, almost laughing. He could see the stifled laughter on everyone else’s faces as well, save Mikey’s. It wasn’t a bad summation of them.

“That’s nuts,” Mikey said, leaning over the table. “Don’t you also have a music career?”

“We like to keep a robust schedule,” Andy said dryly, and Pete couldn’t contain his giggles. To Joe’s surprise, Mikey looked a little less pissed off, more.. almost admiring, but he still looked too impassive to say for sure.

“Like superheroes,” Mikey said softly. Joe nodded curtly at him, and Mikey sighed, softening.

“Where’s the cemetery?” he asked. “Also, what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Do you think the whole necromancy thing will enable you to put the dead back in the ground?” Pete asked, and Mikey looked around wildly.

“Keep your voice down!” he demanded, and Pete rolled his eyes, shooting the others knowing looks.

“Because you seem really nice and a little freaked, we won’t scream that you have satanic zombie powers inside the restaurant,” Pete said, not lowering his voice.

“But believe me, nobody’s gonna notice what we talk about,” Patrick finished. “We’ve discussed vampire watch all around Chicago and nobody’s looked twice.”

“This is a small town!” Mikey said.

“Ooh, pizza!” Joe exclaimed, as the girl Pete had been flirting with brought out two family sized pizzas and an extremely oversized order of breadsticks. Joe snatched the first breadstick Patrick grabbed out of his hand, because it always seemed to taste much better when someone in the band was pissed at him.

They ate quickly, Mikey only delicately eating through the smallest piece he could find while they demolished all the food on the table. (“Hell hath no fury like a teenage boy’s appetite,” Andy had muttered, and Patrick reminded him that Joe was technically the only one still a teenager at the table, to which Andy replied that that was his point exactly.)  Pete kept murmuring encouragements to Mikey while they walked out to the car, and Joe imagined that he must be pretty upset. Pete and his weird aura thing, he always knew how people felt.

Joe drove the rest of the way to the cemetery, the group of them quieting down significantly as they approached, the weight of the situation coming over them. There were swords in the back, which had the advantage of being better than pizza cutters at decapitation, which was all they knew thus far that would even slow the zombies down. Not killing them, but it was a start.

What they needed, Joe hated to admit, even to himself, was a real plan. But even though storming the cemetery was better than anything else they had come up with, that didn’t make it a good idea.

“The good news is that the sun doesn’t get much higher than it is right now,” Pete said aloud, probably trying to calm all of them as the car crunched up the gravel drive leading towards a church.

“Shit,” Patrick said, his face pressed to the window. Joe glanced out of Patrick’s side and felt his skin grow goosebumps.

The entire cemetery looked completely normal from a distance, but up close, every single grave had fresh dirt over the top, the grass overturned.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t just a really bad case of the flu in Indiana recently,” Joe joked, trying to keep the air light. Mikey looked green.

“There’s a lot of them,” he breathed, all of his muscles tense. Joe wondered if he was going to throw up, because he looked really ill, grayish green and sweaty.

“Are you okay?” Pete asked, grabbing Mikey’s hand.

“Ironically,” Mikey paused, breathing heavily, “I don’t always do so hot around dead things. But especially not these things. These- they’re wrong- I don’t-” he stopped again, leaning against the window, taking shallow breaths.

“Do we need to go?” Joe asked, turning to Pete.

“No!” Mikey said, shaking his head. “I can handle it.” Joe still looked at Pete for confirmation, who nodded. He put the car into park, definitely parked illegally right in front of the door.

“So, where in the cemetery?” he asked Mikey, and Mikey shook his head weakly.

“Not in the cemetery,” he said. He pointed his index finger shakily forward. “In the church.”

***

It was amazing, Mikey thought, how well defined a sixth sense could be. For example, this feeling, up close to so many dead things that were walking, felt almost nothing like when he had been shoved into a locker in sixth grade and subsequently had to go to private school for the rest of middle school because the bullies had almost literally been dragged to hell, and despite this, he could still recognize that the feelings stemmed from the same thing, and he wasn’t like, dying of appendicitis, or something. Probably. It would be really unfortunate if his appendix had ruptured on top of everything.

Because in sixth grade, this had felt surging, and powerful, and also completely out of control, like clinging onto the top of a crashing wave, but this was more painful, more heavy. And it did feel the way he imagined appendicitis would feel, which was unpleasant, to say the least.

Nevertheless, despite all of his logic and all of senses telling him to run far away and go back to his band and live a normal life and never talk about this, Pete kept giving him encouraging smiles, and squeezing his hand. The band kept glancing supportively back at him, organizing their clearly battle ready formation in a protective semi-circle around him. If they could be superheroes, why couldn’t he?

Mikey’s feet dragged in the gravel, despite it only being a few steps up to the church. Joe pulled the door open, after crunching the lock in his bare hand. Upon seeing the shards of gold painted metal fall to the doorstep, it occurred to Mikey that he hadn’t had a chance to ask if they weren’t entirely human either.

As soon as the door to the one room church opened, the powerful stench of death assaulted him, and Mikey took a step back, covering his mouth. It clearly wasn’t just a necromancer thing this time, though, as all of them recoiled somewhat, Pete retching slightly and Joe muttering “Jesus” under his breath. Tattoo guy, who Mikey still hadn’t gotten the name of, just wrinkled his nose up slightly, and led the way in.

“Hello?” tattoo guy called, his voice echoing around the walls of the sanctuary. Mikey felt faint after stepping over the threshold, grabbing the wall to steady himself.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anything in here,” Patrick said, a little too loudly, the sound of his voice ringing in Mikey’s ears, and Mikey cringed.

“It’s definitely in here,” Mikey said, breathing heavily. “I just don’t know where.” It seemed unlikely that they could be hiding somewhere, as the church was just bare bones, plain walls and pews and a small podium at the front, looking naked compared to the Catholic churches he was used to.

“There’s not even an altar,” he murmured, so quietly that he doubted anyone could hear it, but the tattooed guy responded.

“No, you’re right, that is weird. There’s absolutely nothing in here. What kind of church is this?” Patrick, to Mikey’s surprise, laughed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, and after a moment, he shrugged. “It’s a Quaker church. The sign out front said ‘friends,’ and there’s not decoration or even crosses. Has to be Quaker.”

“Well isn’t that ironic?” Pete chuckled. “Quaker zombies.”

“Well, I doubt whoever did this asked for the congregation’s permission,” Patrick said. He knocked on one of the pews, and the hollow knocking sound filled the church. A moment later, an answering moan echoed through the church, and Mikey’s vision went fuzzy, only getting worse as he sank to the floor.

“Mikey?” Pete’s voice came as though it were called down a tunnel, far away, though Mikey knew he was right next to him.

“Fine,” Mikay stood up, blinking rapidly, but the room was still blurred. “Is there a basement?”

“Shit,” the tattoo guy whispered, and began jumping on the floor, searching for a hollow sound, presumably. After a moment, he yelled: “Got it!”

There was a booming crash as a piece of the floor was thrown down, and Mikey swayed, but grabbed Pete’s hand to steady himself. The hand in his seemed to fight the disorientation, and the two of them walked forward.

“Looks deep,” Patrick said, and Pete put a hand on Mikey’s chest to stop him from walking further forward. Looking down, he saw the darker patch of floor that signified a hole.

“We don’t have flashlights,” Joe said. “I think going down there is suicide.”

“How much control do you have over the dead?” the tattoo guy asked, “Could you make them come back up?”

Mikey shook his head, pulling away from Pete and wrapping his arms around his chest.

“I, I can’t, I- look, I’m not supposed to use this power at all, ever, okay?” he could hear the panic creeping into his voice, hear the moaning coming from beneath his feet, feel the heat of the boys next to him.

“You made it go away earlier,” Joe reminded him, “Can’t you make them come up too?” Mikey shook his head again, rubbing his arms, too cold. Why hadn’t he worn a hoodie or something?

“Yeah, but that was a mistake,” he said, shivering. “And it was life or death and- and I’m not supposed to be here,” he was almost whimpering, but hoping it didn’t show,  his muscles jumping and twitching under his skin. His blood ran with electricity, and he wished he could at least stop shaking.

No one said it, but he imagined he could hear all of them thinking “then why did you come with us?”

He couldn’t do it. He was, as usual, too afraid to do anything useful. They should have gotten Gerard, but then again, Gerard would never have agreed to anything this reckless. He just would have been better at it if he had.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Well,” Patrick sighed. “We need them to come up, and they’re down there, so, they like flesh, right?”

Before Mikey could properly register what was happening, Patrick took the long knife that he always seemed to carry with him, and made a deep slice down his forearm, twisting the blade at his wrist so that a flake of skin fell off. Mikey felt nausea well up inside of him at the sight, and he cringed, though he didn’t react as badly as tattoo guy did.

“Oh fucking Christ, Patrick, was that necessary?” he yelled, covering his mouth and nose. Patrick shrugged, looking a little guilty. He held his arm over the stairs, and Mikey watched as a drop of blood fell, almost in slow motion, onto the stairs beneath them. The moaning from below grew quiet. Mikey gulped.

“I think it worked,” he murmured, and tattoo guy nodded, his eyes widening, his hands not moving from their position covering his face.

“Right,” Joe said. “Patrick, wrap up your arm, and I think we should probably get ready.”

“We’re not waiting for the zombies?” Pete asked, and there came a crashing noise from beneath the floor, then the heavy sound of stomping on wood, getting closer, unmistakably something climbing stairs.

“I think they’re gonna come,” tattoo guy said, ripping off a chunk of his shirt and tying it tight as a tourniquet around Patrick’s arm.

“Fuck! That hurts!” Patrick yelped, and tattoo guy glared at him.

“Maybe don’t cut yourself next time,” he suggested.

“It worked,” Patrick grumbled, rolling his eyes. They weren’t listening, but Mikey could hear it.

“Guys?” he said, his voice weak.

“Hmm?” Patrick turned, and Mikey may have imagined it, but he looked almost combative.

“There were a lot of graves out there, and I think we may be dealing with more than last time.” Tattoo guy opened his mouth to speak, just as one decayed hand gripped the floor, dragging itself up.

***

Andy had decided that he did not like zombies. As fate would have it, it appeared that the zombies did not like him either.

The recreational broadsword that Pete had handed him (“And what store did you buy this at? Medieval Weapons ‘r Us?”) did well enough at severing the spinal cord of the first zombie that crawled out of the hole, but they were moving much faster than last time. At least as fast as humans, and it had only been a few hours. As soon as Andy shoved the first corpse back down, three more climbed back up, all at once. And though he and Joe were at the front, Pete and Patrick were holding their own pretty well. The problem was that there were too many for them.

Unable to cut them all down, the creatures started spilling into the church, pushing them further and further back, until the four of them stood in a circle, Mikey in the middle of them, all holding pointed weapons out.

“Any bright ideas?” Joe asked.

“Cut a path outside and set them on fire?” Pete suggested.

“How do we set them on fire?” Andy growled, stepping forward and knocking the head off of one of them.

“No, stop, that doesn’t help,” Mikey murmured. Andy glanced at him, then turned back outwards, not wanting to put his back to the zombies.

“What doesn’t help?” he asked. Joe muttered something under his breath, too low even for Andy to hear it.

“Cutting their heads off,” Mikey said, “Look, look at that one’s neck!”

As soon as Mikey said it, Andy noticed. One of them, in between Andy and Patrick, had thick, jagged black stitches across its neck, that were wobbling precariously. It was, in fact, one of the zombies Andy had seen earlier in the day, he was sure of it.

“Shit,” he muttered, and heard Patrick cursing under his breath too.

“Someone’s rebuilding them,” Mikey clarified for Joe and Pete, who were facing the other way.

“If we made a break for it, we could probably get out to the car, enlist some more help,” Joe said.

“They could move by that time!” Pete argued. “Don’t we have a gas can in the back?”

“We’d better fucking not, Pete, what have I told you about-”

“Hey, a gas can sounds like a good idea right now,” Patrick interrupted Joe. “Maybe get pissed later.”

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t be able to kill zombies if we’d been blown up on the way here.”

There was a wet, slapping noise, as a chunk of flesh hit the ground, falling off of one of the zombies. Andy tried to keep his gaze at chest level, because most of the rotting faces were pretty horrifying. Few had eyes, mostly black sockets that seemed the only clean part of them, but some of them still did have something swollen and oozing down their faces. Some were merely dirty skeletons in suits, or ragged dresses. It was different from Bloody Mary, as she looked like she were still dying, and they looked very, very dead.

Zombies, Andy decided, would be a terrible way to die.

While they were standing there, decapitating the zombies that got too close, Andy tried to count them. There seemed to only be about a dozen left, but he could see the bodies dragging their heads down into the hole they had crawled out of. Potentially not good.

“Okay, so, they’re healing themselves,” Andy said. “Great, ah, super, that’s fantastic, so are we going to act on a plan, or…?”

“I’m all for running,” Patrick said, but before Andy could start to push forward, he heard a voice from beneath them.

“Running away so quickly?” a voice rasped, echoing through the entire church. The zombies stilled at the voice, no longer pressing forward.

“Sit down,” the rasping voice said, like papers rustling all around them. Andy first thought the order was for them, but all of the undead stepped away from them, sitting down at the pews.

“Oh god, they’re probably oozing onto the wood,” Joe muttered, sounding disgusted. Andy had to admit, the whole situation was sort of amusing. The pews filled with zombies, almost all of them wearing the formal clothing they had been buried in, and sitting completely silent and still. Which was somewhat how Andy had imagined church for regular people was like.

“You’re welcome to sit as well,” the voice sounded amused. Maybe it didn’t sound like paper. Maybe like the rustling of wings.

“I’ll stand, thanks,” Joe spoke up, and, being in agreement, Andy felt no need to speak up as well. Mikey looked as though he very much wanted to sit down, but he did not.

“Why do you seek to destroy my creations?” the whispery voice asked, and Andy remained stoically silent in the hopes that someone else would answer.

“They are not your creations,” Mikey said quietly, after nearly a minute’s pause.

“Oh really?” the rasping, fluttering voice laughed, and the laughter seemed to flit around the room, up and down and wide around. “What makes you say that, silly mortal?”

Mikey let out a bark of laughter.

“Mortal? You’re one to talk.” Mikey’s voice grew bolder as he spoke.

“Oh really?” the voice repeated, more menacing than before, its rustling sound louder.

“I don’t know what you who or what hired you but you are in way over your head,” Mikey promised. “Have your ‘creations’ discovered that they’re stronger than you yet?”

Andy shot Mikey a look. It sounded like Mikey was pulling all of this out of his ass, but he seemed fairly sure of himself, so Andy contented himself by sitting back and letting it happen.

“Do you mock me?” it hissed, the rustling roughing, thicker as the sound bounced off the walls.

“I don’t mock you, I pity you!” Mikey growled.

“Then pity me no longer!” the voice said. “Rise!” it demanded, the whispered word echoing through the church, and the zombies stood all at once again.

“Well, at least he cut the villain speech in half,” Patrick sighed, then tugged on Pete’s arm, leading the way out of the church.

Andy didn’t know why it was surprising, but he found himself shocked to see how sunny and pleasant it was outside. Hardly any time had passed at all, and it was still bright out.

“Car!” Joe yelled, and they bolted inside, closing and locking the doors behind them.

“Fuck me, man,” Joe groaned. By the time they had shut the last of the doors, the first of the horde had begun clawing at the car doors, pressing their faces up against the glass. Some scratched the car with their bones, while a few just leaked on it.

“First of all,” Andy said, turning to face Patrick. “How’s the cut?”

“It’s fine, mom,” Patrick sighed. “How’re you, Mikey?”

“Bad,” Mikey said. He continued to stare directly forward. The car was shaking with the weight of the creatures crawling all over it, and they were beginning to block out the sun.

“What were you talking about in there?” Pete asked.

“When I feel the dead, I also feel the living,” Mikey explained, shaking his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “There were twenty two dead, five alive, not counting myself-”

“Whoever did this is just human?” Pete surmised.

“A magician, probably,” Mikey said. “Maybe a summoner. This is advanced work, but he turned on us when I threatened his authority. Possibly not very powerfu-” he cut his own sentence off abruptly, gagging slightly.

“Well, this car won’t sell for much,” Joe muttered. A loud, screaming sound of metal ripping came from outside, and they all winced.

“Also whatever spell he used is making them gradually get stronger,” Mikey added. “Which is unfortunate.”

“To say the least,” Andy agreed, his tone light and airy. The car rocked back and forth, quiet moaning coming from outside.

“I hate stiffs,” Mikey growled, rubbing his arms.

“Stiffs?” Pete asked.

“Slang. Gerard’s word, really, it’s a rigor mortis joke, but-” another ear bleeding, nails on the chalkboard noise came from outside, and they all winced again.

“Kind of ironic,” Joe said with a shrug. “Necromancer in a band like yours. Do they know?”

“Is now really the time to be discussing my personal life?” Mikey snapped.

“Believe it or not, we’ve been in worse situations,” Patrick said, as the roof caved slightly under the weight of what sounded to Andy like a zombie body slam.

“Kidnapped by H.H. Holmes in his murder hotel,” Pete said.

“Chased across Pennsylvania by a homicidal poltergeist,” Andy added.

“Kidnapped by mermaids.”

“The Bloody Mary incident.”

“You guys are fucking psycho,” Mikey said, and the car rocked again. Pete dove over the back seat into the trunk area, rummaging around in the back, the clang and clatter of weapons getting displaced ringing in Andy’s ears.

“We have gasoline!” Pete yelled, waving the red container over his head.

“Great, do you want to get out and try to light the super strength zombies on fire?” Joe asked.

“Just drive forward and shake ‘em off!” Pete demanded. Andy rolled his eyes. The car was very dark inside from all the bodies pressed up against the glass, so he wondered if anyone but him could see clearly.

“The church is right in front of us,” Andy sighed. “We can’t drive forward.”

“Then drive backward! Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Sorry,” Joe muttered, throwing the gearshift into reverse, and slamming his foot down on the pedal- which did nothing.

“Step on it?” Pete suggested.

“I _am_ stepping on it,” Joe growled. The engine revved, loudly, and the moaning from the zombies grew marginally louder. The silence inside of the care, however, was deafening.

“Are they that strong?” Patrick asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Mikey replied. It was dark and quiet, and for the first time, Andy began to feel panicked.

“This is dark,” Patrick observed, his voice small. The bravado seemed to have been sapped out of all of them.

“You guys have a plan?” Mikey asked.

“Maybe you want to call someone in your band for help?” Joe suggested, and Andy could see Mikey rapidly shaking his head from the shifting light, coming in through the spaces in the zombies’ limbs. Pete climbed back over the back seat, and he grabbed Mikey’s hands.

“Mikey,” he said, staring at him. Andy braced his arm against the wall of the car, trying to steady himself as it shook. “Can you try and put them back in the ground?”

The car was rocking, the light coming through looking strobe like, and the effect was at best, unsettling.

“I’m not supposed to,” Mikey said, and it sounded like he was crying, so Andy snapped his head back forward.

“Why aren’t you supposed to?” Pete asked, as soft and kind as he could. Andy wished he could give them more privacy, but as the bones left scratches on the glass of his window, he wasn’t about to try and open the door.

“Because she told us not to and Gerard said we couldn’t and I messed up and I can’t control it and humans shouldn’t have this power! It’s too much power and I’ll hurt someone if I use it!” Mikey was definitely crying, and Andy was huddled up against the side, the sounds of bone raking drilling holes in his ears.

“Listen to me, okay Mikey?” Pete hadn’t brought out the charmspeak, for whatever reason, “They were wrong. And you’re not gonna hurt anyone. You need to put these things back where they belong, okay?”

To Andy’s shock, after a pause, Mikey said “Okay.”

Mikey closed his eyes, the muscles in his face trembling with concentration, biting down on his lip so hard it looked like it might bleed, and making quiet noises under his breath that eventually formed into the same words as last time, “Si post fata venit gloria non propero.” He mumbled the words under his breath over and over again, Pete holding both of his hands securely in his, until suddenly, one of the zombies was ripped away from the dashboard.

“Yes, yes, good job,” Pete murmured, while Mikey continued his mantra, more and more of them seeming to be peeled away from the car, until it stopped shaking entirely. Mikey was still mumbling after the noise and motion stopped, until Pete shook his shoulder.

“Hey,” Pete said, nudging Mikey. “You did it.”

Mikey nodded weakly at him, cracked his neck, and stepped out of the car.

“We may still need the gasoline,” he said, and Andy jumped out of the car.

The entire graveyard was filled with standing zombies, all of them holding down, in some fashion, another zombie, each at one of their graves. One of the new zombies was sitting on top of another.

“Um?” Pete’s eyes bugged, which seemed a good summation of Andy’s feelings as well.

“I couldn’t get them to go away, because they wouldn’t listen to me,” Mikey smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “So I raised my own army.”

“You said there were twenty two originally?” Patrick asked feebly. Mikey nodded. “That’s forty four zombies.” He sounded faint.

“Well, yeah,” Mikey shrugged. “Ahem. Guys, start digging!” he called, and his set of zombies all moved to pull of the earth.

“They’ll rebury them, then rebury themselves,” he explained. “And afterwards, we should light up the ground around the tombstones. To purify the ground.”

Andy had never heard of this, but it hardly seemed the time for skepticism. So, with a shrug, he hopped on top of the car hood, watching while zombies dug the graves for other zombies. It took less time than he would have expected, and once they lay back down in the dirt as well, Joe walked up and down the rows sprinkling gasoline all over the ground where the tombstones were.

“You want the honors?” Joe asked Mikey, handing him his lighter. Mikey smiled at him, flicked it on, and dropped it on the ground, watching the grass around the cemetery go up in flames.

“I was wrong,” Patrick said, as they watched the flames lick the tombstones. “This definitely takes the cake for weirdest shit to ever happen to us.”

Andy opened his mouth to agree, when he heard sirens approaching in the distance. He turned to Joe, who must have heard it too.

“Shit,” Joe said.

“No, come on, this is ridiculous!” Andy groaned, as the sirens grew closer, eventually pulling up to them. The five of them turned, Pete instinctively raising his hands up.

A policeman climbed out, crunching down the gravel road towards them with a sour expression on his face.

“Son,” the man said, pulling his sunglasses off and glaring at Joe. “Is that gasoline on your hands?”

***

“So,” Pete was right in Mikey’s ear, even his voice making Mikey want to punch him in the face, “So I know that you said no the last seven times, but it would be great if you could call someone in your band to bail us out.”

Mikey was perfectly happy to have never been arrested, but here he was, staring at the black bars of the jail cell. The drunk tank, in Indianapolis, because the tiny town they had just saved was actually too tiny to have its own jail.

Mikey was too pissed to speak, even though it was not, strictly speaking, the fault of anyone in this band. He was still mad. And embarrassed. His only big hero moment, and he had spent the whole time crying, and now they were in jail, where some guy with a foot long beard kept sniffing Joe’s hair and trying to hit on him. Patrick appeared to have stolen Pete’s pen, and was currently embellishing penises drawn on the wall of the cell by adding trails of cum arching off the end of all of them. No one had even mentioned their “one phone call” yet. And hours had passed in this weird, smelly cell.

“Like, dude, we will totally pay you back!” Pete said, and Mikey huffed. He was going to call someone as soon as he got the chance, but Pete may as well sweat it out a bit first.

Being in jail was pretty annoying, but for the first time all day, Mikey wasn’t fearing for his life, so that was nice.

“I mean, seriously, like _as soon as_ we get back to Warped-” Pete continued, and Mikey cut off his words with a loud, long sigh.

“If they ever offer us a phone call, I will call someone to come and get us out, okay?” he promise.

“Is that what you were waiting for?” Pete sounded annoyed, and snapped at a guard passing by, saying something sharp and staring directly into the man’s eyes. He came right over, unlocking the door.

“You want a phone call?” he asked Mikey, and Mikey nodded, standing up and cracking his back. He followed the guard, a nervousness, growing in the pit of his stomach as he walked down the hall.

The black phone, shockingly shiny against the gray background, stood out, and Mikey thanked the guard, sitting down, breathing deeply, before saying a tiny prayer to whatever might be listening that he got the number right.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Frank,” Mikey could feel relief washing through him. “Listen, uh-”

“Dude, where the hell have you been all day?” Frank asked. “Everyone’s been going totally nuts looking for you, and we were gonna go to the comic thing in Indy, but Gerard didn’t want to leave without you, and seriously, we haven’t seen you since the show, did you get, I don’t fucking know, kidnapped by pirates or something?”

“Close,” Mikey said, deadpan.

“Yeah?” he could practically feel Frank’s grin through the phone. “How close?”

“If I tell you something, and ask a favor, do you promise me you will never tell my brother?” Mikey asked, leaning in closer to the phone, though there was no need to. Frank’s tone got serious quickly.

“Are you okay?”

“For time’s sake, I’m going to assume that you’re lack of a response would indicate that yes, you promise not to tell my brother, so with that, I am in jail with four- ah- friends of mine. Can you come and bail us out?”

The line crackled with silence.

“What jail?”

“It’s somewhere in Indianapolis,” Mikey said, sighing in relief. “You’ll come?”

“How much does it cost to bail five guys out of jail?” Frank asked.

“Use credit if they let you, we’ll pay you back,” Mikey said, “And Frank?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

The car ride home back to the tour was incredibly awkward. Frank, as Mikey expected, said absolutely nothing to the four extra people in his car, and almost swerved off the road when Joe asked if they could stop by the tiny ass cemetery in the middle of fucking nowhere. He and Andy (Mikey learned his name in the hours of time they spent together in jail) ran inside, but came back out dejected, saying the church was completely vacant.

Upon dropping them back off at their tour bus, Mikey gave Pete one small smile.

“We should do this again, sometime,” he said. “Not get arrested, maybe, but hang out.” Pete shrugged, shaking his hair a little, the setting sun glinting in his eyes.

“This is our last date,” he said. “I dunno. Maybe we’ll do Warped next year too.”

“I hope so,” Mikey said. He tried to ignore how disappointing the thought of the rest of the tour without Pete was.

“Yeah,” Pete’s tongue hung out just a little ways out of the side of his mouth, which looked mostly dumb and a little adorable, “Yeah, me too.”

Without warning, Pete leaned forward, and kissed Mikey’s cheek, his breath on the side of his face.

“See you next summer,” Pete breathed, right in his ear, and walked away, Patrick complaining about how long he took. Mikey slid back into the car, where Frank had a wide, expecting smile on.

“What?” Mikey asked, self conscious.

“Not a thing,” Frank said, speeding away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good lord this is cutting it close, but it's still April in my time zone and I'm still on schedule!!!! Petekey, Peterick, and with the end of the season rapidly approaching, I hope you guys are still as psyched as I am for this story!!! A huge shout out to technicolorheadcanons on tumblr, who made two pieces of the raddest fan art ever for chapter five!!! That was so awesome! Seriously, the fanart/edits make my day!!! Go check them out!!! Working on a blog for this story, and I have the url thehigh-waytohell reserved, under construction, but you can follow that if you want more current updates and cool fanart and whatnot. umm? Sorry I didn't include patrick pov in this chapter, it was getting too lengthy and, well, I like to break my own rules. He'll be back with a vengeance next chapter!!! Thanks so much for reading, and thanks so much for the feedback on andrea's pregnancy. We'll see how it goes. Love you guys!!!


	10. Rock 'N' Roll High School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At a high school homecoming game, Joe begins to realize that sometimes high school can be killer.

"So." Joe was wearing sunglasses, one of Patrick's hats pulled down over his face, and a thick, lumpy hoodie. "Remind me why I agreed to do this?”

“Because I need a car, I’m not going through this alone,” Pete said, adjusting the mirror, tensed up. “And because you still have friends that want to see you.”

“First of all, I don’t talk to anyone that goes here anymore,” Joe said, “Second of all, even if I did, I don’t have friends that go to the football games, do you? Does Jeanae? I mean, really?” Pete grew silent at this.

They’d been having this argument for a while, but Joe was behind the wheel, so he must be losing. Pete had been, with some difficulty, convinced by Jeanae to go to New Trier High School’s homecoming game, two nights before Halloween. The whole apartment had, against their will, listened to countless arguments on the subject: Pete insisting that he had much better things to do with his Friday nights, Jeanae insisting that she had much cuter and younger boys to sleep with on her Friday nights, Pete screaming that she never came to his shows, Jeanae screaming that Pete never came to her anything, Pete yelling that she never did anything, and was he supposed to cheer on her hairdressing career? and Jeanae crying and Pete apologizing and, inevitably, Pete ended up signed up to attend the homecoming game.

However, as though he were determined to make everyone else just as miserable as him, he demanded Joe come with him. Joe wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up driving back to his old high school on a Friday night, but he strongly suspected Pete had broken his “no charmspeak on friends” rule.

“Do I need to remind you why I graduated early?” Joe asked, his lips turned down into almost a pout.

“I mean, I had assumed it was because you wanted to pursue a musical career and we booked studio time when you would otherwise have been attending classes,” Pete said, half a smile on his face.

“You assumed incorrectly,” Joe said sourly. “I just wanted to leave, that was what. I hate those kids and I hate this stupid school.”

“Yeah, I hate the stupid school too,” Pete said, heaving a deep sigh. “But I had to come, and I’m not going down alone.”

“You are also,” Joe continued, still pissed, “Breaking my lifelong streak of having never attended a football game.”

“Dude,” Pete looked borderline offended, “in that case, you should be thanking me for completing your high school experience.”

“I never wanted to complete my high school experience! That’s the whole fucking point of graduating early!” Joe yelled, but he let out a hug of air and sunk down in his sit, feeling like the whiny kid on a car ride. He glared out the window and ran a hand through his hair. He was certain that he wouldn’t know anyone there very well, but maybe well enough for someone to yell his name, and the prospect sounded mildly appalling.

The car smoothly sailed into the recently paved parking lot at New Trier high, and Pete half yanked Joe out.

“We go down together,” he repeated, dragging Joe up to the football field with him, Joe grumbling all the way.

The bleachers were filling up, the sky already a thick and pitch black velvet, oppressive and dark, and still not enough to encroach on the industrial lights shining down onto the field. A tiny bubble of green grass and blue wearing students standing out against the night. Everyone chattered excitedly, buying popcorn and squealing with loud laughter as they hit their friends with it. It was unseasonably cold for October, and everyone was bundled up in hats and scarves, clouds of breath bursting everywhere. It felt like too much, too many people pressing in on Joe from all sides, and he knew certainly that Pete felt the same way.

“I hate crowds like this,” Pete said, confirming Joe’s suspicions.

“Crowds like what?” Joe asked, ducking out of the way of a jock-type boy bent in half and howling with laughter.

“Crowds that I’m a part of rather than standing five feet in front of and six feet above,” he said, a wry smile on his face. Joe gave him a sympathetic smile, forgetting, temporarily, to be mad at him. The temporary lapse in memory was gone as soon as Pete jumped up and screamed, loud as any of the high schoolers: “Jeanae!”

Joe could tell, if Pete couldn’t, that all of Jeanae’s friends were shooting him and Pete dirty, angry looks. Whether he chose to acknowledge it or not, Pete was the creepy older boyfriend. Joe’s friends had some of them, when he went here. Sweet sixteen year old girls that dated creepy 23 and 24 year old guys, that everyone told them to stop dating, they were creepy dropouts, and the girls would just sigh dreamily about how perfect the guys were. Pete was now apparently the creepy 20-something dropout boyfriend.

Pete and Jeanae couldn’t seem to care less, however. They were all entangled in one another, murmuring into each other’s ears and giggling. All previous arguments forgotten. And here Joe was, stuck somewhere they didn’t even sell alcohol. It felt exactly like being back in high school.

Pete and Jeanae towed him back to their section in the stands, Joe trying not to look like he was being waterboarded. Jeanae pointedly introduced him to all of her friends, which he responded to stiffly. They seemed far from excited to meet him too, and one of them seemed downright depressed to Joe.

“So, when are we gonna get this show on the road?” Joe asked, loudly interrupting Pete and Jeanae’s weird baby-talk thing that high school couples always used. They both jolted out of their reverie seeming surprised to see Joe there. Bastards.

“Oh, the game probably won’t start for an hour or so,” Jeanae said flippantly. Joe’s lip curled.

“We’re here an hour early?” he asked.

“Everybody shows up early,” she laughed. “Football games are more of a social experience than a spectator sport.”

Joe wasn’t entirely sure he could come up with a response to this, so he slumped down in his seat, texted Marie, and closed his eyes. He sat there like that, on the cold metal bleacher, totally still, for at least half an hour. When he sat up and checked the time, it had apparently been three minutes. He sighed again, and turned to one of the angriest looking girls there.

“You don’t look like you want to be here either,” he said to her, propping his feet up on the bleachers. Her frown deepened.

“What do you care?” she snapped, glaring at him.

“I don’t,” Joe assured her, rolling his upwards at the dark, thick sky. He let himself get washed up in the sound of clamoring chatter as people spoke everywhere. It was too loud to sleep, but he drifted into a state of almost meditation for a few moments.

“We’re stuck here, at a stupid football game, as though football even matter!” she spoke again suddenly, shaking Joe out of his reverie. His head snapped back sharply to face the girl again.

“Sorry?” he was somewhat alarmed.

“As though any of this matters,” she sniffled, and then let out a loud, wailing gasp, her head falling between her knees as she began sobbing. Her tears were loud enough to make Pete and Jeanae come up for air, the two of them staring at her with concerned expressions. Joe, who was decidedly _not_ in the mood to deal with an existential crisis, saw that no one was paying much attention to the girl. Most turned back to what they were doing uncomfortably. With no one else to help, he heaved a sigh and said “What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t h-heard?” she hiccupped, tears and snot running down her hands where her face had been lying. Joe shrugged.

“My friend, she d-d-died-!” it looked like the girl was going to say more, but her own sobs cut her off, face falling into her hands again. Joe grimaced, but reached over and rubbed her back.

“Um, there...there?” he said, trying to be soothing and conceal his discomfort. She twisted around to face him then, sobbing into his shoulder. He froze into stone, his eyebrows turning down as he felt liquid- hopefully tears and not snot -sinking into his shirt. He kept rubbing small circles into her back and trying not to make a break for the car and leave Pete behind entirely.

“Oh Jesus, okay, it’s gonna be alright,” he promised, shooting Pete a death glare that he was certain went unseen.

“She was my f-friend!” the girl blubbered.

“Yeah, okay, I know,” Joe sighed, running his other hand through her hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s awful!” she gasped, trying to inhale air deeply and rapidly. “She was j-just going to see her boyfriend, the- the quarterback at football practice and she was m-m-murdered walking home!”

“Whoa, dudes!” a guy appeared next to Joe as though from out of thin air, and Joe jumped slightly, unnerved. “Are we talking about the fat bitch that got eaten alive by vultures?”

The crying girl sobbed louder, shaking her head and trying to say something, but another voice from behind Joe’s head broke in.

“She didn’t get eaten by vultures, fuck-tard!” another voice popped up from behind him. Joe, having been back at high school for fifteen minutes, was already very excited to leave and never come back.

“Then how come all the meat was picked off her? All they found left was her bones!” the first guy jeered back. The girl had grabbed Joe’s shirt and was screaming into it, shakes wracking her body.

“Hey, maybe stop it-” Joe began, but was interrupted by Guy Number Two.

“I heard it was a hazing ritual,” he said, sounding proud of the information. “I heard that Tinley Park’s swim team has to kill somebody every year- then they make the freshmen eat the flesh!”

The girl that had been crying onto Joe finally jumped back, leaning over the bleachers and dry heaving. Joe opened his mouth again to tell them to stop, but they continued.

“Bull SHIT, man! We aren’t even that close to Tinley Park, they’re south of the city!”

“Yeah, which is why they’d never get caught for a murder out here! It totally fits!”

“You’re so full of shit!”

“Well vultures couldn’t’ve torn her clothes off like that! I bet they fucked her first!”

“Stop it!” Joe roared, standing up. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?”

His words came too late, and the unknown girl ran out, fleeing for the exit while she sobbed. Joe felt sick as he looked at the two boys, seeming confused as to what they had done wrong.

“Sorry bro,” the first guy said, then, turning back to his friend, added “I still think it was vultures, though.”

“Fucking hell, when did she even die?” Joe asked, disgust pooling inside of him.

“I dunno man, I think they found her on Tuesday?” the second guy said, and the first one shrugged.

Joe felt as though all of the blood in his veins had been turned to sludge, and he grimaced in an expression of pain. He shook his head at the two, and stormed over to Pete and Jeanae, yanking on Pete’s shoulder so hard the two ripped apart.

“I’m going home,” Joe announced to him. “Find a different ride back, I can’t do this.”

“Wha-? Dude!” Pete exclaimed, his mouth twisting in dismay. “You can’t do that!”

“I really can’t stay here,” Joe said. “I think I might be sick.” Not a lie, that was for certain.

“Come on,” Pete groaned, and seeing the look on Joe’s face, amended to “Lemme call Patrick, okay? I’ll see if he can give you a ride home, and then I’ll drive your car back? Please?”

It was, in good traffic, and with a far more reckless driver than Patrick, half an hour from their apartment to the high school. Joe didn’t want to agree to the deal, but something in Pete’s eyes that was more than pleading and less than charmspeak softened Joe up.

“Fine,” he growled. “Tell him I’ll be waiting inside. I can’t listen to more of this.” Joe stormed out of the bleachers, ignoring Pete as he called his thanks back to Joe.

Joe climbed out of the bleachers and walked the width of the football field, immensely grateful to find that the gymnasium doors were unlocked, and that the school was relatively quiet inside. The lights were off, which gave it a creepy feel, but it was still a welcome respite to the ceaseless cheering and airhorns.

Heightened hearing could be a real bitch at times. There were awesome perks, like knowing so far ahead of time if someone’s parents are going to walk in on you having sex, or detecting tiny nuances in music that no one else could notice, but it was extremely inconvenient at times. Sporting events, pre-concert crowds, even busy hallways could feel like an auditory assault, especially when he wasn’t prepared to block it out.

Presently, Joe could hear the crowd buzzing outside, muffled by the shut door. He could hear a football coach providing his team a pep talk somewhere down the gym hall, and a band playing a few twisting halls down, where all the music rooms were. Smiling wryly, he realized that he still remembered the whole school like the back of his hand.

It was significantly easier to put his head between his knees and wait in the silent darkness of the high school, and before he knew it, he heard the sound of footsteps he could recognize as Patrick’s approaching him.

“Somebody send out a distress signal?” Patrick asked, and Joe smiled up gratefully.

“I’ve never been so glad to see your dumb-” Joe began, only to be interrupted by an ear piercing scream.

***

Contrary to whatever his friends seemed to think, Patrick did have things to do on a Friday night. He had a delightful girlfriend with whom he was sleeping with regularly. He had a cool family that invited him over whenever rather than kicking him to the curb once he turned 18. He had plenty of friends that weren’t in semi-famous Chicago based pop-punk bands named after characters from The Simpsons, and yet, here he was, at their beck and call as always.

And, as always, they seemed to be in the middle of a very serious situation.

“Sounded like it was coming from down that hall,” Patrick said, all business. He reached down at his waistband, and realized with a pang that he had left his knife in the car.

“Bathroom,” Joe said, sprinting down the hall. Patrick jogged after him, grumbling internally. The differences in running potential were blatantly obvious as well as disheartening. Luckily, the bathroom was a straight shot, and there was no chance of Patrick getting lost in the dark high school.

He skidded around the corner and into the bathroom just after Joe. He slipped and nearly fell on the damp floor, and looked down only to find the soles of his sneakers covered in blood. Bile rose in Patrick’s throat as he pulled his foot back, listening to the squelching sound. He breathed in deeply through his mouth, and followed the pool of blood to its center, where a skinny, almost emaciated kid wearing football padding was cradling a boy in a marching band uniform that had a gaping, ragged hole in his torso that oozed blood.  

“I- I didn’t-!” the football guy gasped, reeling back from Joe and Patrick. “I just- I just found him here!” he gasped, turning the kid’s head slightly. The boy in the marching band uniform was completely limp, but Patrick could still see his eyes moving from behind his eyelids.

“All players on the field!” a man screamed from outside the bathroom. Patrick turned over to Joe, who was staring at the football player with a blank expression on his face.

“We’ll call for an ambulance. You should get out there,” Joe suggested, and the kid bit his lip, hard, two spots of blood drawing to the surface. Still, he nodded, and sprinted from the bathroom, pulling his jersey over his head as he left.

“I think we might have to hang around for a while,” Joe told Patrick. He knelt down and pulled the kid’s phone out of his pocket, dialed 911, and let it ring. “See his chest?”

“Torn up,” Patrick was staring at it, the ragged hole, the bright blue jacket ripped aside, the torn strips of muscle. “Did you see the way he bit his lip? Till it bled?”

“Girl in this neighborhood got all the flesh stripped off her bones earlier this week,” Joe said. “I was gonna leave it up to the police, but-”

“The quarterback’s a wendigo,” Patrick grimaced. “And police don’t really deal with wendigos, yeah. Okay. What do we do?”

“First we clear out before we get convicted of cannibalistic assault,” Joe said, “Then we have to find a way to get the quarterback alone-”

“And kill him?” Patrick hissed. They had begun walking out of the bathroom, Patrick wiping his shoes off on the floor as he went so he wouldn’t track blood. “I don’t feel entirely comfortable killing high schoolers!”

“Well it’s not as though we can make him human again!” Joe hissed back. “He’ll kill more if we let him go!”

“Look, this isn’t our job!” Patrick said. “And I’ve got to be back in an hour, so isn’t there some way to just isolate him and call someone else?”

“No time for that,” Joe argued. “We’ve got to take care of this before he kills again.”

“But-” patrick began, thinking of Anna and Halloween prep and needing to get back.

“Let’s get this over with as soon as we can, alright?” Joe said, staring at Patrick. “Can I count on you?”

Patrick heaved a sigh, but nodded. Joe smiled and nodded back at him, then began running up a flight of stairs.

“Where are we going?” Patrick yelled after him.

“Second floor hall!” Joe called over the railing. already at the landing, he was so fast. “We need a better vantage point of the game!”

Patrick ran after him, following him out onto the skywalk, the hall filled with tall windows that overlooked the football field.

“These would freak me out so much in high school,” Patrick remarked, knocking on the glass of one. Joe shrugged.

“They haven’t broken yet,” he said, and looked out over the field.

The two teams were lined up (ish) in the center of the field, some scattered behind or in front of the line, and Patrick craned to see if he could find the too thin boy he had seen in the bathroom. As he stared, there was a sudden flurry of movement on the ground, all of them running and converging then running the other direction- and in seconds, they all stopped and lined up again, slightly off center from before.

“Do you know how football works?” Patrick asked helplessly.

“Patrick, I take pride in not knowing how football works,” Joe said. “However, this might be slightly easier with Andy. Text him and ask him if there’ll be a time when the players are off the field for any extended period of time.”

Patrick pulled his phone out and send the text, leaning against the window again. After some time, Andy sent a somewhat condescending reply that, other than half time, there wasn’t much of an opportunity for players to be off the field, assuming they weren’t benched. And he might have been, for all Patrick knew. He looked sick. Maybe the coach agreed.

The two of them watched the game progress in this fashion for a while. Running, stopping, lining up, running, stopping, lining up. Patrick felt like falling asleep.

“How long till half-time?” Joe asked.

“Well, the clock says seven minutes,” Patrick said, looking up at the scoreboard, “But considering our current rate of thirteen seconds per minute-”

“Point taken,” Joe groaned.

“Wait, hold on,” Patrick said. “They’re getting off the field. Why are they getting off the field?”

It seemed to Patrick, in retrospect, that watching a football game from a distance and without sound offered next to no information, and it took him way too long to realize that the game had stopped due to the paramedics rushing in and carrying a boy out on a stretcher, and that beyond the floodlights were lights that flashed red and blue.

“They aren’t on the field; what’s your plan?” Patrick asked.

“Haven’t thought of one yet,” Joe admitted. “But hopefully he’ll want to dispose of us first, so he’ll come looking for us.”

“Hopefully?” Patrick hissed.

“He doesn’t know we’re ready,” Joe explained.

“We’re not ready-!” Patrick’s voice began to raise, but he was cut off by the sound of someone crashing into a set of lockers down the hall. Patrick felt his heart rise up in his throat, remembering his last experience with the wendigo. _Blood everywhere and his heartbeat in his head and all the swelling in his brain and the blood on the floor_.

Patrick reached out and grabbed Joe’s hand on instinct, gripping his fingers tightly and breathing heavily as he began stepping backwards down the hall.

“Right, yeah, possibly a bad plan,” Joe was murmuring under his breath, and as Patrick heard the footsteps switch into the sounds of someone running, he turned and sprinted down the hall, Joe at his heels.

“Head outside! Go to where the crowd is!” Joe yelled. Patrick wondered if he’d always been so slow at running down stairs, or if this had developed recently. Halfway down he leapt over the rail, taking off down the first floor hall.

Patrick hit a dead end on the first floor before Joe caught up to him, something that would have made him proud if it were any other occasion. As it was, Joe gripped his wrist, fury plain on his face.

“This is not outside!” he hissed.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed?” Patrick growled back, peering over Joe’s shoulder. “Do we have to go back the way we came?”

Rather than answering, Joe began to tug Patrick back in that direction. It was difficult for Patrick to see at all, the halls were so dark, so he had to trust Joe blindly. They hadn’t gone far at all, however, when Joe cursed under his breath, and they took a sharp right turn, shoving Patrick through a set of double doors.

“What the-” Patrick began, and Joe covered his mouth. What little he had gotten out echoed all throughout the room. A gymnasium, Patrick realized, looking up.

He gave Joe a sharp, questioning look, and Joe gave him a quick head shake. He yanked Patrick into the hollow underneath the wooden bleachers.

Wordlessly, Joe led Patrick through the labyrinth of metal poles that held the bleachers up, pulling him out at the other side.

“We lose him?” Patrick whispered, mostly mouthing the words. Joe nodded.

“I can’t hear him anymore,” he said cautiously. The two of them stood still, catching their breaths, and then with a loud booming sound, the gymnasium flooded with light.

“Um,” Patrick said, his fingers still gripping Joe’s tightly in fear, but way beyond the point of being able to simply let go.

“That isn’t good,” Joe began, his hand no looser than Patrick’s. They stood there frozen for a few moments.

“Is someone there?” Patrick called out. Joe didn’t reprimand him for it, so they must have been fairly safe, but no sooner had he spoken than something came hurtling past his head, and slamming to the ground with a thunk- and another thunk, and another, and another, until the sound drifted off. Patrick turned to discover the source and saw exactly what he was afraid of.

“A dodgeball?” Joe asked in disbelief. “Come on, that is so not fai-!” he was cut off by having to jump out of the way of another red rubber ball, this one flying at his stomach.

Patrick looked around wildly to see where the balls were coming from, only to get hit- hard, in the shoulder. So hard that he fell to the ground, gripping his arm in pain.

“You okay?” Joe asked.

“Fucking strong ass wendigo,” Patrick growled, getting to his feet, again, as Joe ducked another ball.

“Fucking high school flashbacks,” Joe growled, picking a ball up and throwing it away from them.

Patrick was still glancing about the gym, trying to find a source, all while ducking away from the whistling sounds of the dodgeballs.

“Up there!” he yelled after a moment. While he looked, Joe had taken to a defensive position, batting the balls away from both he and Patrick. Patrick pointed up at a well concealed hole in the wall, high, high up. He couldn’t see the boy, but it was where the balls were coming from with intense accuracy.

“Well he can’t stay there for long,” Joe said, “I can hear the game starting back up again outside.”

At Joe’s words, the dodgeballs stopped flying, and the gym went silent.

“I think he heard you,” Patrick informed Joe, who rolled his eyes.

“Let’s go get Pete; I think we’re gonna need the extra help,” Joe grumbled, and the two of them went back outside. The hallways felt so much more twisted and convoluted at night, and he was in awe of Joe’s ability to find the way.

Patrick attempted, surreptitiously, to stand closer to Joe as the sounds of their footsteps echoed through the halls. Dodgeball wasn’t the most traumatizing experience of his life, but Patrick was far from eager to run into a wendigo alone. He trusted Joe, certainly, but he still imagined that Andy was slightly stronger, and it was a struggle for the two of them.

The had made it halfway to the stadium when even Patrick could hear loud cheering erupt from the stands. Joe and Patrick froze.

“He couldn’t have made it back, could he?” Joe asked.

“What else could it have been?” Patrick asked. Joe stared at Patrick and shrugged, and they continued to run for the stands.

***

“Isn’t this nice?” Jeanae said, feeding Pete kernels of popcorn out of a brown paper bag. “Just you and me and-”

“A few thousand of your closest friends,” Pete gestured to the crowd. She hit him in the chest teasingly with a mittened hand.

“You and me and no freaky monsters,” she said. Pete winced, recalling what at least a part of their fight had been about. “I swear,” she continue, “I’m turning into Mary Jane, Peter,” she laughed and pressed her lips to his.

“You’ve been sitting on that pun for a while,” Pete chuckled. He ran his fingers through her hair, surprised at how glad he was that he had come out.

“Well, that, and I’m a lot cuter than Lois Lane,” she said, then bit her lip. “Also, I’m pretty sure Batman only dates villains.”

“You’re way hotter than Cat Woman too,” Pete said. She blushed, giving him that awed look she did now and then. If nothing else, it must be a huge ego boost to her that he couldn’t lie when he gave her compliments like that.

“My friends really like you,” she lied. But sweetly. Pete smiled ruefully and pulled her in closer. He opened his mouth to kiss her, leaning in-

“Pete we have to go now!” Patrick yelled, and Pete heaved a deep sigh, looking up.

“I’m busy,” he said, his voice dry and flat. He could see Jeanae’s aura dimming in his peripheral vision, and he was so not in the mood to make her feel better.

“It’s important,” Patrick pleaded, Joe was standing behind him, nodding fervently. Pete gazed up at the sky, black and heavy, and told Jeanae to wait there a minute, and he walked off after the two of them. Once they were a reasonable distance from the crowd, he snapped at them.

“What?” he hissed.

“The quarterback’s a wendigo,” Joe said. Pete gave him a withering look.

“A wendigo?” he asked.

“The kid that got carted out was half eaten!” Patrick said, pointing roughly in the direction Pete had seen red and blue flashing lights fifteen minutes ago.

“And his girlfriend was found earlier this week- only her bones!” Joe said, his eyes wide and fervent. This gave Pete pause, and he wrinkled up his forehead.

“Jeanae’s friend?” Pete asked. Joe nodded again.

“She went to see him at football practice,” Joe said.

“And they broke up,” Pete continued. Joe and Patrick stared at him, and Pete shook his head. “I’ve been talking to her clique for ages, but yeah, he broke up with her while she was there.”

“Perfect motive!” Joe said, shaking his head in disbelief. “They guy has a motive!”

“The quarterback at my girlfriend’s high school isn’t a wendigo!” Pete yelled. “And for just this one night, let it go! I’m certain it’s a coincidence.”

“No, we were attacked-” Patrick began, then winced.

“You were?” Pete asked.

“By, uh, dodgeballs,” Patrick winced. Pete inhaled, counted to ten, and exhaled.

“I’m going back to sit with my girlfriend,” he said. “I suggest you guys watch the game. Or go home. Just for tonight, alright? And we can come back to it tomorrow.”

Patrick opened his mouth as though he were going to argue, but Joe nodded, giving Pete a small smile.

“Okay man, fine,” he said. “See you at the apartment, yeah? We’ll come back out tomorrow.”

Pete nodded curtly, and walked back up to the bleachers, resting his head on Jeanae’s shoulder.

“Where were we?” he asked, leaning over and kissing her again. She giggled, and they turned their attention back to the game. Pete really didn’t care much about high school football. Or professional football. He could keep his mind on soccer, basketball, most sports, really, but this particular sport bored him to tears.

Still, after the conversation with Patrick and Joe, he couldn’t help but watch the football players more carefully. One of them, though it was hard to see under the padding, did look very ill and rather skinny.

_Not tonight_ , Pete thought to himself. He snuggled closer to Jeanae, and tried to keep his eyes off the field and to focus on her. It wasn’t hard for him. Her swirling aura, her pink lips, the puffs of air that blew out in front of her when she breathed. He stared at her for ages, and when he looked back out, he tried to look at the school rather than the players, not wanting to think about the wendigo threat. However, half-time had just begun, and he could look at the cheerleaders and the marching band without fear of thinking wendigo related thoughts.

“Poor girl,” Jeanae sighed, staring down at the marching band.

“Who?” Pete asked.

“Marcia. She’s the first clarinet, and she walked halfway home with- well, God, imagine that survivor’s guilt!” Jeanae said, gazing sympathetically across the field. Pete’s mind whirled.

“She was walking home with the girl who got killed? And not her boyfriend?” Pete asked. The world was blurring together the sounds of people talking buzzing too loudly in his ears for him to properly hear what Jeanae was saying, or making it sound like she was speaking from inside a well.

“Yes, Pete, why? What’s wrong?” she asked, putting a hand on his forehead.

“Nothing you should worry about,” he said, shaking his head like it was full of water.

“You look sick,” she fretted.

“I’m sure I’ll be alright,” he promised. Talking around the lie. As always.

“Are you certain?” she asked, and he made a face, nodding. Not exactly a lie. He was sure he’d be okay sometime. In the future, even if it didn’t happen until he was 90.

He tried to watch the half-time show and just be with his girlfriend, like a normal boy, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong with the first clarinet’s aura. Like it was too dark, or too angry, and though he knew it couldn’t be true, it almost felt like the girl was watching him.

He stared up at the blank wall of the school, hoping it would be neutral enough that he didn’t look like he needed to puke, only to be sickly surprised again.

As the New Trier fight song blared up from the field, he could see two figures just barely standing on the window ledge of the third floor, the shorter one gripping at the bricks.

“Actually, babe, I don’t feel well at all,” Pete said, standing up and knocking her to the side. “I’m gonna go to the -uh- bathroom!” he yelled, running across the bleachers.

“Feel better!” she called, but Pete wasn’t listening. He sprinted into the high school, and began taking the steps two at a time. Luckily, he knew the exact ledge was his old English classroom, because he used to spend entire lessons staring out that exact window and dreaming of climbing out and lowering himself to freedom.

Pete ran down the dim halls, shaking off the memories and reminders of this god-awful place as he skidded up to the classroom, yanking the door open.

Inside, he saw the kid with the football uniform yanking Joe inside the school with more force than he looked capable of, Joe kicking all the way.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” the football player yelled.

“Patrick run!” Joe shouted out the window.

“What?” Pete asked, to no one in particular. He focused, turning to the football player and said, “Just put him down and let’s talk about this, all right?”

The boy’s eyes slid out of focus, and he nodded briefly as a golden light filled the room. Pete felt a wave of guilt wash over him, but he ran to the window and yelled at Patrick to get inside.

“Why are you chasing them?” Pete asked the football guy.

“They… were... “ his words came out slow and unsteady. “They were gonna… tell the coach. I saw them trying to get into the locker room from above, so they could tell… tell the coach.”

“Tell him what?” Pete asked. The guy’s eyes were rapidly clearing.

“I- fuck you, man, I don’t have to tell you shit!” he gasped.

“Come on, let’s just talk about this,” Pete pleaded. “Sort this out. I’m sure it’s just a communications issue.” The player nodded dumbly, shaking his head again.

“They found me with Connor but- but that wasn’t my fault,” the football guy said. “I heard him scream and I wanted to help.”

“If you didn’t do it, you should have nothing to fear,” Pete said.

“Everybody thinks I killed my girlfriend too,” he said, tears beginning to fall down his face. “But I didn’t, and coach still almost benched me because it looks so bad! And I hated Connor, but I wouldn’t-”

“I know,” Pete said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t do it.” The kid started crying more heavily now, and Joe yanked Pete to the side.

“Of course he did it, we know he did it!” he hissed.

“It wasn’t him,” Pete said. “It was a band girl, I saw her.”

“And you didn’t go after her?” Joe asked.

“I wasn’t going to go after anyone!” Pete hissed. “But then you had to go and dangle yourselves off of that window ledge like live bait-!”

“Go back down to your team, okay?” Patrick said to the boy. He nodded, swallowing thickly. “We’ll find who really did this.”

The player ran out of the room, and Pete sighed, sitting on top of a desk.

“When do we get a normal date night?” he wondered aloud.

“So a band girl?” Joe asked, looking alarmed. Pete kicked at one of the chairs.

“Yeah, why?” he asked.

“Band leaves after the half-time show, they’ll all be in the locker rooms,” Joe said. Pete opened his mouth to argue- that he didn’t want to do this, that they could do it later, that it was time to go home, but the words wouldn’t come, in the way that lies never came.

“She and somebody else could be the last two in there if we don’t hurry,” Pete said, and they raced outside. He was getting awfully tired of running, and even more tired of being at New Trier, but what could one do?

They ran for the bleachers, where the band’s changing rooms were underneath. The three of them squatted down underneath the highest bleachers next to the door, and waited for the band kids to begin leaving.

“Jeanae’s gonna kill me.” Pete muttered.

“Anna’s going to be pissed,” Patrick empathized.

“I love long distance,” Joe sighed, and they sat, watching the band kids begin filing out in normal clothes.

When the stream of students leaving slowed to a trickle, Pete began to wonder exactly how many students were in a school band anyway, and when they should go in. After the door stayed shut for more than a minute, Joe stood up and beckoned they follow.

He managed to creep soundlessly in the door, making Pete feel like an elephant with the way he seemed to lumber. Most of the lights were off, but one was left on, and he could hear the murmurs of two women talking quietly.

“No, no,” one girl whispered. “I’m disgusting.”

“Not at all,” another, lower voice replied. “You look beautiful. I mean, Jesus, just look at your hands…”

The three of them rounded the corner just as the girl sunk her teeth into the other’s arm. The one getting bit screamed, trying to pull away and screaming harder as the movement tore at her flesh.

Joe jumped forward, barrelling into the wendigo and knocking it to the ground.

“Run!” Pete advised the bleeding girl, who nodded tearfully and broke for the door. The wendigo snarled beneath Joe, her teeth snapping back and forth.

“I’m starving!” she shrieked, her jaw smashing open and closed as though trying to eat the air, completely rabid. “Hungry enough even for dog meat!”

“I’d like to see you try,” Joe told her, grunting. His muscles were straining trying to keep her down, so Pete ran over and pinned one of her wrists to the ground, throwing all of his weight into it. He shot Patrick a look, and he ran over and did the same.

“This isn’t fair, it isn’t fair!” she screamed. “I’m so hungry and I can’t feed, let me go!”

Joe gritted his teeth and twisted her head to the side, hard. Pete winced as he heard the loud crack of bone breaking, and felt the girl go limp beneath him.

Joe stood up, breathing heavily and dripping blood off of the cuffs of his sleeves where it had trailed over her mouth.

“Great, how do we get her out of here?” Patrick asked. Pete froze.

“Maybe there’s a medical wheelchair nearby?” Joe suggested. “We could Weekend at Bernie’s this shit.”

“Who the hell keeps a medical wheelchair in the locker room?” Patrick asked, but Pete rounded the corner and wheeled one back in. Patrick’s jaw went slack.

“Rich schools,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

They sat her in the wheelchair, covered her with a Pete’s jacket and Patrick’s hat, and wheeled her out. They got her into Joe’s car (“No way am I lugging a corpse around, thanks!” was Patrick’s excuse) and drove, caravan style, to Chris’ apartment.

“You have a guy for disposing of corpses?” Pete asked by means of greeting when Chris answered the door.

“Pete, tell me you didn’t bring a corpse with you,” Chris pleaded, and Pete shrugged.

“I can’t lie to you,” he said.

***

“And why are you friends with people that know how to dispose of corpses?” Andy asked. It was two days later, on Halloween, and they were getting ready for a show. Andy was slightly miffed to have missed the adventure, but he rarely left the apartment with Andrea, she was so close to her due date. He was being chased everywhere by an overwhelming sense of panic that he wasn’t doing enough, that he wasn’t ready for a kid. Wasn’t ready to be a father.

“Lucky he does,” Patrick said. “I’m not ready to go to jail for murder.”

“Much better to go to jail for burning a church yard, right?” Joe teased, elbowing Patrick in the stomach. Andy smiled thinly at them, unable to untie the nervous knot in his guts.

“Anyways,” Pete rolled his eyes and swung a backpack off of his shoulders. “We picked up your costume for tonight!”

“Sweet,” Andy said, pulling the pink dress out of the backpack.

“I would’ve made a great Peach,” Joe said wistfully.

“Put on your big kid overalls, Luigi,” Pete demanded. “You’re the tall one.”

“Are we gonna be like the Backstreet Boys or something?” Patrick asked. “The tall one, the cute one, the mysterious one-”

“The pocket sized one,” Pete smiled at Patrick, who rolled his eyes. Really, Andy thought, it was a miracle that the four of them had found a group costume they could all agree on for that show. They had gone through ideas for The Nightmare Before Christmas, (“Jack, Sally, Oogie-Boogie, and?” “I don’t know, Zero!”) Ghostbusters, (“None of us are black!” “Hey!” “Black enough!”) The Breakfast Club, (“But we can’t all be Bender,”) before the suggestion of Mario came up. Andy was perfectly happy in a dress, Pete wanted to take the weirdest costume anyway, and Joe was content with being The Tall One, so it all worked out in the end.

Andrea came backstage while they were all getting dressed, waddling in with her distended stomach far out in front of her as she reached up to kiss Andy’s jaw. He felt guilty, knowing that the football game the other night had gotten both Pete and Patrick into not fantastic places with their girlfriends. Patrick, even as Andy curled up around his girlfriend, was looking at his phone morosely and trying to text Anna something that would make her call him back.

“Going on, you guys ready?” the stage manager asked them after a bit. Andy kissed Andrea one last time before she waddled out, presumably to go home, as mosh pits were generally a bad idea for pregnant women.

Only with the lights down, with all of his focus on the kit in front of him, did Andy feel almost okay about the future, almost ready to raise a child. He felt alive and invigorated and ready to take on the world, and the concert euphoria lasted even when he got off stage.

Or, that is to say, the euphoria lasted when he got off stage for approximately thirty seconds, at which point he felt a sharp pinch in the back of his neck, and saw his vision fade to black.

When he next opened his eyes, he felt warm to the point of hot as the sunlight beat down on him through the windows of the van. He was swaddled up in a blanket, and his mouth felt dry and sticky, his head fuzzy.

Andy rubbed his temples, sitting up and pushing the blanket off of himself as he stretched, cracking his neck. He turned to the side and saw Joe asleep on the seat next to him, and Andy jumped over, shaking him awake.

“Whaaa-?” Joe lifted an arm up to block the sunlight from his eyes, his face twisted up in distaste. “What’s going on?”

“What do you remember from last night?” Andy asked. Joe sat up, blinking rapidly and rubbing gunk out of his eyes.

“We got out of the concert and-” his hand flew up to his neck, his pupils blowing out. “I got shot, someone injected me with something!” He threw open the van door, jumping out.

Andy crawled to the back where the equipment was kept, and opened up the back doors from the inside.

“Pete and Patrick,” he said, “They’re not in the van.”

“Fuck!” Joe shouted, pulling out his cell phone and dialing someone’s number. A phone laid carefully on top of one of their amps began to go off.

“Shit shit shit,” Andy whispered, running his hand through his hair. He pulled out his phone as well to see if anyone had messaged him, and discovered that someone had.

“Shit!” he hissed, nearly dropping his phone.

“What, did someone contact you? Is there a ransom?” Joe asked, clearly in a panic.

“No- I- I have to go to the hospital.” Andy’s breathing was labored and didn’t seem to be actually providing him with any air.

“What?” Joe asked, one of his ears plugged as he called someone else’s number, their cell phone also going off inside the van.

“Andrea’s in labor,” Andy said. Joe stared at him, and into the van where the phones were going off.

“Okay,” Joe said. “Okay. You go to the hospital, I’ll work on finding Pete and Patrick, alright?”

Andy nodded, helpless, and ran forward to a busier street, waving his arm above his head to hail a cab. To his relief, one pulled over almost immediately.

“Rough night?” the driver asked, snorting as he looked at Andy. Andy glanced down, and saw he was still wearing the pink dress, and probably still had the tiara pinned to his head. He winced, leaning back in the seat.

“You have no idea,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... first cliffhanger! Don't hate me too much, haha! So I'm sorry this is so late, but in my defense I graduated from high school last Saturday and my family threw a party and then I had to clean up and- it was a big spiral-y mess of things I had to work on, but I feel like, given the ending of this chapter, you won't mind the next chapter coming sooner, because the June chapter will still come in June. I don't know, gosh, I have so much to say and I want to thank you all so much for sticking with this and I hope that you enjoy the next season and stay with the story and keep telling your friends and doing fan art because it is all. So. Cool. If you want more frequent updates about what's going on, you can follow thehigh-waytohell.tumblr.com where I posted the announcement that this chapter would be late and stuff. Cover photo is by the amazing technicolorhousecat, and the icon will be by prettyyanarchist once I figure out how to work anything. You guys are super rad, and I hope you enjoy! I'll update with the penultimate chapter later this month. Chapter title by The Ramones.


	11. Dead on Arrival (part 1/2)

Patrick’s first thought upon waking was that he had a killer headache, and this thought was shortly followed by the realization that he had never slept in a bed half so comfortable as this one.  On that thought, though the pain in his head fought to keep him awake, but in the end the overwhelming comfort of the bed won out. Patrick was back asleep before he could lift his head off of the pillow.

The second time he awoke, the pain in his head was duller, more of an angry fuzziness around the edges than a sharp throb, but it still hurt, and he was no longer tired. Resigning himself to dealing with a killer hangover, he sat up, trying to recall where he had been last night.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he realized why the bed was so comfortable- it was not his bed. The walls that surrounded him were papered in a rich, forest green and dark gold design, and landscape paintings hung around them. Clinging to his shoulders and practically holding him down was a matching green gold comforter, huge and heavy. He forced the blanket off of him and jerked back in surprise, a stab shooting through his head at the sudden movement. He was still wearing overalls, and a big red hat sat on the pillow next to him.

Turning to the side, Patrick saw Yoshi sleeping on a matching bed, heard him snoring loudly. Pete.

Patrick all but leapt onto the adjacent bed, grabbing Pete’s shoulders and shaking him violently. The Yoshi hood fell off of his head, and he blinked up at Patrick, sluggish.

“F’ck ‘ff,” he mumbled, pushing Patrick’s chest as he slammed his eyes closed.

“Pete, Pete, please get up,” Patrick pleaded. His own voice hurt his ears, but the fear was overwhelming, and possibly creeping into his voice. “Pete, something’s wrong, please.”

 

Pete cracked one eye open. “What?” he growled.

“Something’s wrong,” Patrick insisted. He wasn’t crying, not even close, but he could feel his throat closing up and his heart rate elevating. To his relief, Pete sat up.

“What’s wrong?” Pete asked, his eyes training in on Patrick instantly.

Patrick lifted his hands up in the air, gesturing all around the room. His heart rate was definitely elevated, but he was not going to cry.

“Where are we?” he asked, breathless. Pete’s eyes narrowed, still hazy, muzzy, possibly hungover as well, Patrick thought, as he looked around. He jerked up as he realized the unfamiliar setting, his feet planting on the ground as he instantly lifted himself into a fighting stance. His face went from blank to frightened to angry to confused, all within the space of a few seconds. Mostly puzzled, he straightened up, pushing hair out of his face.

“Is this… a hotel room?” he asked, sounding lost. Patrick let his eyes flick around the room once again, the fancy features becoming recognizable again.

“I- I think so,” he said. More confusion. His head hurt so badly, and it seemed as though thinking made it worse. “It, um, looks like a hotel room?”

“Yeah,” Pete said offhandedly, walking the width of the room now, inspecting the gold-green brocade of the curtains drawn over the window, and frowning deeply as he turned around.

“What?” Patrick asked, fear coiling in the pit of his stomach again. He was still sitting on Pete’s bed, holding back from yanking the curtain up to his chin. “What?”

“Two things,” Pete said, and he drew back the curtain. Behind it lay more of the wallpapered wall, but no window. Patrick’s eyes widened.

“Don’t panic,” Pete ordered, and Patrick huffed a little air out through his nose.

“Forgive me,” he spat, “but the last time I was in a room without windows-”

“We’ve been here a while, I think,” Pete mused. “I think I might’ve woken up earlier, but I can’t say. This isn’t Holmes. Stevie exorcised the guy in a jiffy and that’s one ghost we’ve laid to rest. This is… different, I think.”

“What do you think it is?” Patrick asked, panic still unfortunately heavy in his voice.

“Look behind you,” Pete said. Patrick turned to the other side of the room for the first time to see a toilet and a shower, not in a separate room, merely with separate flooring in the bathroom area. Next to it, a kitchen nook, also with no walls separating the stove and the shower, just a change in floor pattern.

“This might’ve been a hotel once,” Pete said, “but not anymore. This layout, it’s more like…”

“A prison,” Patrick finished for him grimly. He tried to gather the cool, collectedness Pete seemed to have about him. “Supernatural?”

“Almost definitely,” Pete said. “We’re not nearly famous enough to have any fans that would do this, ad in any case it’s way too ritzy for a teenager to afford. Question is- who’s out to get us?”

“All of supernatural Chicago?” Patrick suggested helpfully. He stood up as well, brushing dust that was not there off of his overalls and peeling the fake moustache from his face. Pete giggled at him, and Patrick rolled his eyes.

“At least I’m not dressed up like a dinosaur,” he muttered, and Pete shut up. Patrick felt around in his pockets, grimacing in disappointment. “Have your cell?” he asked, and Pete winced, shaking his head.  “Nursing a hangover?” he asked, and Pete nodded again, pained.

Patrick walked over to the kitchen side of the room, finding some clean glasses next to the sink and filling them up with water. Patrick padded across the carpet and gave Pete a glass, to which Pete shot him a look.

“What?” Patrick asked, still holding the glass out for Pete to take.

“Chicago tap water,” Pete said, still making a face. Patrick rolled his eyes.

“We might not even be in Chicago for all we know,” Patrick said. Pete just shook his head.

“I’m gonna hold out for a water bottle,” he said, and Patrick shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, drinking deeply. It tasted really good, actually, nothing like inner city tap water, which reassured him about the water quality, but made him all the more concerned about where they were. His head felt much clearer once he drained the glass, and felt some of his basic reasoning returned.

He heard the creak of a mattress as Pete lay back down, and upon turning around, noticed a mini bar next to his bed. As Patrick opened the door, he heard Pete sit up and yell, “Hey! We can’t afford that shit!”

“We’ve been kidnapped, Pete,” Patrick sighed, “I seriously doubt this is on your card.”

Silence came from behind him for a moment. Then; “Okay, sweet, can you toss me something strong?”

“You’re hungover,” Patrick replied in disapproval. He pulled out a water bottle instead, and a candy bar for himself. When he stopped rummaging and stood up, he could see Pete frowning at him. Patrick tossed him the water bottle, took a huge bite of something ambiguously sweet, and, mouth full, said “What?”

“I don’t remember drinking anything last night,” Pete said slowly. As the words hit Patrick’s ears, he instantly began wracking his brain. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember drinking anything either. But then again…

“I don’t remember last night at all,” Patrick said. Pete looked at Patrick, his eyes wide and open in a way that they usually weren’t, which was a dead giveaway to Patrick that Pete couldn’t remember either. He knew his face too well.

“We played the Halloween show?” Pete phrased it like a question. Patrick nodded.

“I don’t remember anything after ‘Saturday’,” he said. The room was silent.

“Where do you think we are?” Pete asked softly. Patrick felt his heart sink at the words. The water bottle sat next to Pete, unopened, and Pete looked so strangely defeated. He was the man with a plan for as long as Patrick had known him, and the helplessness was more unnerving even than waking up in here.

And yet, seeing Pete looking so defenseless made Patrick spring into action. Someone had to take over, right?

He sat down next to Pete on the bed, unscrewed the water bottle, and put it in Pete’s hands.

“Not city water,” Patrick said, and when Pete still didn’t respond, he rolled his eyes and said, “Take a drink, Yoshi, or there will be a very wet dinosaur in here.”

That did it. Pete cracked a tiny smile, and began to drink. Patrick saw the calm wash over his friend’s face the same way it had for him.

“Better?” Patrick asked. Pete chugged through half the bottle, then nodded. Patrick smiled at him, and leaned forward to grab his candy bar from the adjacent bed, and as he did, Pete grabbed his shoulder tightly.

“What’s on your neck?” Pete asked. Patrick felt goosebumps rising on his body, already bundled up with nerves.

“Not funny,” he growled, trying to yank out of Pete’s grip, but Pete pulled him in closer, staring at the side of Patrick’s neck.

“You’ve got track marks,” Pete said, his frown deepening.

“As I am neither a junkie nor suicidal enough to stick a needle in my jugular vein, I’m gonna have to disagree with you,” Patrick half laughed, taking another thick bite.

“I can’t lie, remember?” Pete said. Patrick HAD forgotten, but he wasn’t going to give Pete the satisfaction of knowing that. In any case, he was preoccupied.

“Show me your neck,” he demanded, and Pete instantly pushed the hood further back, lacing his fingers behind his head and bending over.

“Shit,” Patrick breathed, his heart rate increasing again. Sure enough, on the left side of Pete’s neck were two small but dark dash shaped marks, black veins beginning to trail off of them.

“Elaborate,” Pete growled, his voice half panic and half velvet.

“Your weird hypno-speak is unnecessary,” Patrick muttered, “You’ve got marks too. Two of them.” Pete made a small whimpering sound, and Patrick lifted him up, putting on hand on either of Pete’s shoulders and staring into his eyes.

“Hey, hey, c’mon, look at me,” Patrick said, trying to catch Pete’s eyes. “It’s fine, okay? Obviously they weren’t trying to kill us or something.” Of course, as soon as he said it out loud, Patrick began to think of what if they had been trying to kill them and would try again soon, but he tried to put that out of his head.

“Okay,” Pete parrotted back, grabbing the water bottle and drinking deeply.

“Okay,” Patrick breathed, sitting closer to Pete than he normally should have. The two of them sat in relative silence for a while, waiting for something. With no clocks and no sun to guess by, Patrick couldn’t say how long it had been when finally they heard the sound of voices from outside.

“Fuck,” Pete whispered, staring at the door as though it were going to explode. Patrick looked down at the floor, catching sight of each of their hands on the bed as well, very close to one another, but this threat, Patrick decided, was too ambiguous to make him resort to hand holding. For now.

The door was flung wide open, and a sweet looking girl, probably sixteen at the oldest, walked in. Her long black hair was swept back into a ponytail, and she had a pencil stuck into it. She wore an outfit that reminded Patrick of a waitress. All in all, she was the opposite of what he expected.

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re both awake!” she chirped, eyes bright. Her face broke into a wide smile, revealing a set of sharp white fangs. She laughed as fear coursed through Patrick.

“Oh, poor things!” she cooed. “I can hear your hearts fluttering like little birds halfway down the hall!” Patrick couldn’t see what was remotely funny about the situation, and turned to Pete for guidance, but his friend’s face was blank.

“Henry, Celia? In here!” the girl called out the door, and two more people walked in. _Not people_ , Patrick thought. _Vampires_. While the girl that walked in looked more like a vampire, with dark hair and pale skin and blood red lips, the man felt more like a vampire. Despite his leathery tanned skin, he was gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes. Big boned, but his skin seemed to cling to his oversized skeleton. He looked like a junkie, or a biker, crazy dangerous.

“Ah, yes,” the first girl pulled out a notebook and began flipping through it. “Celia, you requested Pete, correct?”

The other girl nodded eagerly, smiling with her mouth closed so as not to show her fangs. Everything felt like it was moving too fast for Patrick, as though the world were fast forwarding past him, the only one left at normal speed.

“Requested for what?” Pete asked. Patrick still felt distantly grateful that Pete had asked.

“Oh!” the girl with the notebook, the one working like she was at an Olive Garden, her mouth popped open into an ‘O’ of surprise. “Oh, of course, how silly of me! I know who you two are, so clumsy of me to skip orientation. You’re going to be feeders here for-” she paused to check her notebook, then looked back up, “-a period of time that has yet to be determined.”

“Feeders?” Pete’s voice rose an octave.

“Food sources for the vampires in town!” she said, still perky as ever.

“Are they not here voluntarily?” Celia asked, suddenly upset. “We were promised that this would all be entirely humane, and furthermore-”

“They’re a special case, Celia,” the girl working there soothed her. “And I’ll be happy to explain all of it back upstairs.”

Celia looked unhappy, which was nothing compared to how Patrick felt, but his tongue seemed to have frozen to the roof of his mouth.

“So,” the working girl continued, gesturing to Pete in a long, sweeping gesture. “Bon appetite!”

Pete gripped the bed, white knuckled, in a sudden panic.

“No, wait, wait!” Pete started shaking his head rapidly. “You- you can’t- you can’t- please don’t try to-” he stammered over his words as Celia walked closer, looking miserable.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him, leaning in close enough that even Patrick could barely hear. “But I am starving after my flight. I swear, I’ll talk to management as soon as I’m done, okay?”

“No, wait, PLEASE DON’T!” Pete begged, trying to push her off, but Celia’s fangs sunk deep into Pete’s neck. Patrick fought back a sob rising up in his throat as he just sat there, staring, not doing anything to help. But just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

Celia pulled back quickly, covering her mouth delicately, her fingers shaking.

“It- it burns!” she gasped. Something black was trickling down her chin, and Pete was crying.

“I’m sorry!” he said, and Celia let out a horrific scream as she burst into flames.

“Whoa!” Patrick yelled, jumping up onto the bed and staring at the flaming woman in horror. Pete stared at her, aghast, but the flames appeared to burn hot and fast. In under a minute, there was nothing left of her but ash.

The working girl was staring at Pete, her mouth agape.

“Are you a fairy?” she asked, blinking rapidly. the other, taller vampire looked equally disturbed. Pete, thoroughly shaken, nodded.

“Really?” she asked, her lips quirked up into a smile. Pete nodded again, this time whispering “Yes” as well.

“And you can’t lie, right?” she asked, smirking.

“I can’t, no,” Pete said. He had turned to staring at his shoes.

“Great!” the woman said, clapping her hands together. “Well, at least you got the human rights girl off our case. So, Pete, you knew that would happen? That your blood was poison?”

“I tried to warn her,” Pete said thickly.

“Well, I doubt there will be consequences for you,” she said offhandedly. “But the leader will be in to explain it later, so save your questions for then. One last thing, Pete,” she leaned in close. “Is Patrick human?” Patrick squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“Yes,” he heard Pete say, but kept his eyes shut tight.

“Go ahead, Henry,” he heard, and refused to look out. Refused to look as he heard the heavy footfalls approaching him, and even when he felt the bed on the opposite side of Pete sink with someone else’s wait. Only when he felt something sharp and painful and much, much bigger than needles in his neck did his eyes fly open as he let out a cry of pain.

Patrick’s senses felt magnified as he felt the rough tongue on his neck lapping up his blood, the thick objects lodged in his skin that every instinct was telling him to shed, and nothing for him to do. He looked to the side to catch Pete’s eye, but Pete was still staring at the floor. He whined in pain, squirming a little, but it didn’t help.

It wasn’t much longer than Celia had been attached to Pete when the woman said “Enough, Henry.” But the vampire did not stop, and Patrick’s heart, totally counterproductively, began to beat faster again.

“HENRY,” the woman said, her voice heavy and commanding as Pete’s could be, and the man finally broke away. Patrick’s hand flew to his neck, though he wasn’t bleeding heavily, he could still feel the liquid between his fingers.

“So sorry about that,” the woman apologized. “He’s a DTK, they don’t know better.” With that, she grabbed the other vampire’s hand, and the both of them whisked out the door. As they were leaving, she laughed. “Thank goodness you didn’t check the door earlier, we completely forgot to lock it!”

***

Andy was so not in the mood to deal with the cab driver, who was looking at him once every few minutes and chuckling to himself. Andy told him to go to the hospital Andrea had mentioned in the text and hoped with all his might that he had the money for this ride at all. His hopes turned into a twenty in the pocket of the pants he had on underneath the dress. He briefly considered taking off the dress, but he didn’t have a shirt on underneath, and he wasn’t sure if the hospital would be more upset about him being shirtless, or crossdressing. His stomach was in knots the whole ride, but he had the presence of mind yet to text Andrea that he was on his way, and to send Joe a message telling him to text him if there was any sign of Pete or Patrick.

The dress turned out to be a major hindrance, even though he ditched the tiara as soon as he got out of the cab. The ride came out to $19.97, so Andy grimaced and apologized as he threw the twenty aat the guy and bolted for the entrance. Everyone in the hospital turned to gawk at him, but he walked up to the desk as fast as he could, ignoring the stares.

Before he could even open his mouth, the woman at the front desk nodded at him.

“Andrew Hurley?” she asked. Confused, he nodded. She smiled politely at him.

“Andrea told us you would be coming, follow me please.” With that, she grabbed a clipboard and walked out from behind the desk, proceeding to stroll down the hall at a brisk pace, Andy half jogging to keep up.

“It looks like you just missed the birth,” she said, her eyes occasionally flicking down to her clipboard. “But only just, and Andrea did very well. You’ve got a healthy girlfriend and a healthy daughter,” she said, beaming at Andy.

In spite of everything going on, at that moment, Andy felt feather light. He had a daughter. The woman opened a clear door with a soft click, and gestured for Andy to go inside.

The room was as clean and white and hospital-ish as any hospital room was, but there, with her hair plastered to her sweaty forehead, looking tired and haggard, lay Andrea, cooing at a tiny bundle in a soft white blanket. Andy stood there for a moment, just watching the two of them, feeling his heart swell up, as though it were taking up the entirety of his chest.

“Hey,” he said after a moment. Andrea looked up, a sleepy smile on her face that instantly turned to laughter. Andy blushed slightly, looking down at the damned dress.

“I’m sorry!” her laughter sounded wet and choking, “But it’s just- it’s too funny!” Andy lifted his eyes up to the ceiling.

“There wasn’t time to change,” he mumbled, and Andrea giggled again.

“I know,” she laughed, “I’m sorry. It’s still funny.” Andy smiled at her and sat down gingerly on the edge of the hospital bed. He peered into the blanket cocoon, barely seeing the bewildered, closed eyed face of the baby.

“Weird looking thing, isn’t she?” he laughed weakly.

“I think she looks like you,” Andrea said, smiling fondly at the girl, but shooting Andy a teasing look.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Andy said. “You wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had.”

“Oh, no, I know that’s not your fault. I just wish in retrospect that they had used a lower dosage of sedative on you guys,” she said, still smiling at the little girl. Andy blinked in confusion.

“Sorry, what?” he asked.

“Less strong sedative,” Andrea said, her voice still quiet and sweet while she rocked the girl. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and said, “Andy, we need to talk.”

“Okay,” Andy said, still confused, still not getting quite what was wrong. Andrea turned to look at him rather than the infant.

“Our baby bit down onto the doctor’s finger as soon as she was born, and she has no adverse reactions to drinking blood,” Andrea said. Andy’s chest twisted up in pain for his child, but Andrea continued. “She’s not one quarter vampire at all, though. She’s half. Just like I was hoping.” Her eyes met his, and she pulled her lips back to show her teeth, too sharp, he realized now, to be human.

“You’re not the only half vampire, Andy,” she said, “You’re just the only boy.”

Andy felt a numbness sinking into his bones, freezing him into place as she spoke.

“I’ve been lying to you about a lot of things,” Andrea said slowly. “But I need you to trust me now, okay? I never, never lied about how much I love you, okay?” She stared up at Andy with big, pleading eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Andy said, his voice almost a whisper.

“There was an… organization,” she said, halting slightly before the last word, “an organization created by our sire.” Catching sight of Andy’s expression, she said “Sire, you know, as in the vampire that turned our mothers-”

“I know what a sire is,” Andy said sharply. She nodded.

“Right, well, our sire ran an organization that believed in the evolution in vampires,” she said. “See, it was widely believed that dhampirs were nothing but a myth, but he thought it was possible. Most people thought he was crazy, but some believed him, and they followed him. At first, they tried seducing women and trying to impregnate them on their own, but this never produced offspring. They tried to get vampire women pregnant as well, still no dice. So our sire decides to try taking pregnant women and turning them. Nine times out of ten, the woman would miscarry, but he found two methods that worked: turning them very slowly from early in the pregnancy, and turning them fully once the baby was strong enough that it could survive being born. From what I’ve heard, you were created the second way, and I was created the first. Your mother was rather, ah, obstinate about keeping you away from the vampire world, but mine went mad with grief and killed herself. Our sire raised me as his own, and I was almost all he ever hoped for. I could go out in the sun, be seen in mirrors, could withstand holy water and crosses, but still had superior strength, speed, agility, everything.” She paused at long last, waiting for Andy to say something.

“Go on,” he finally said stiffly.

“Right, well, he made three children in this way, but one of them died very young, so luckily he had a boy and girl. Our sire always believed that if a vampire or dhampir were to give birth, the creature born would be much stronger, so the next phase of his experiment was to wait for the two of us to grow up. His idea was that once you were old enough and away from your mother, he could speak with you about his great plan, and we create a child.”

Andy felt his blood boiling, but he motioned for her to keep going.

“Unfortunately he died, five or six years ago,” she said, looking truly mournful for the first time. “I went to take over the experiment, but exposed to the real world for the first time, I realized just how much was wrong with all he was doing! Raping women and killing people and for what? To rule the world? I was disgusted.

“I started volunteering with the humans, and realized that while his vision was flawed, there was still plenty we could do! Andy, imagine a world of people like us,” she paused, holding the baby with one hand and taking one of his hands in her other. He let her hold his hand, but could not feel the warmth from it. “People that didn’t live forever, like vampires, but who lived longer, long enough to care about the environment. Better than humans, better than vampires. We can put the world back where it was meant to be.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Andy asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Taking over,” she said. “Overthrowing all the corrupt governments in the world and ruling like truly benevolent leaders. We can keep around enough humans to sustain us and be done with the rest of the little parasites-”

“Parasites?!” Andy cried.

“Like you haven’t seen!” she said, getting heated. “Like you haven’t seen what they’ve done to the world! I know you think it too, Andy, that we could do better! They destroy the earth, the ozone, the oceans, they consume all the food in the world, and we could start fresh!”

“You’re talking about genocide!” Andy said, his voice raising a few octaves.

“I’m talking about a new world order!” she said eagerly. “Can’t you understand that?”

“No!” Andy said firmly, “I can’t.” But he was lying. He could. He could see the world the way she described it and it frightened him by how enticing it sounded. She gave him a sad, almost pitying look.

“I was afraid you might say that,” she sighed. “Which is why I have collateral.”

All of the blood in Andy’s veins froze suddenly and deeply. He stayed silent, frozen, unwilling to say it out loud, but she did for him.

“Pete and Patrick are going to be just fine,” she promised, “So long as you behave yourself for the next couple of weeks.”

“What’s the next couple of weeks?” he asked.

“I’m hosting a bit of a convention for vampires interested in ascending their own ranks, the curious, the cynical, and my father’s follower’s,” she said. “It’s the largest gathering of vampires in all of history, and it’s happening right now. I need to convince them I’m right, and for that I need your endorsement.”

“Endorsement?” Andy asked in disbelief. “You make it sound like it’s politics.”

“It is politics,” she said, and she looked at him sadly. “You don’t have to stay with me. I love you, Andy, I really do, but you can leave when this is all over. I doubt we’ll take over completely even in our extended lifetimes, and even if we do, you can live in complete peace, I assure it. But for now, we’re going to go get some things for Pete and Patrick so that their stay as feeders will be comfortable, and you’re going to move into the convention center for a few weeks. You and I and our daughter will be the vampire equivalent to the royal family, and once they’re convinced, you and your friends can go home.”

“And my daughter?” he choked, staring at the sleeping baby.

“That’s one custody battle I guarantee you will lose,” she said. “You’re a tattooed rockstar with a history of supporting anarchy extremist groups. You can always still visit.”

“Or I can stay with you,” he said, and she nodded.

“I want you to stay with me,” she said, and Andy snorted.

“For now,” she sighed, “Patrick and Pete are feeders-”

“For the vampires!” Andy screamed. Andrea shot a worried look toward the door, then nodded.

“Pete’s not even human, so good fucking luck with that!” Andy hissed. Andrea knit her eyebrows together in confusion, then shrugged.

“I’m sure one of the waitstaff will figure it out, but we’ll deal with that later,” she said. “Don’t worry, love, we have a very safe system. People are only allowed to be used for blood every other day, no more than a cup taken at a time, and they’re given very iron rich diets.”

“And somehow I’m still not happy about it,” Andy growled, his arms actually shaking with rage. Andrea looked guiltily away.

“I just wanted to keep them in captivity, but the, um, organization has a policy of ‘waste not, want not,’ probably because of Emma. She was born in the Great Depression, you see-”

“I don’t care,” Andy growled. “I want to see them now.”

“Well, you can’t,” Andrea sighed. “I’ll go explain everything to them later today while you’re settling in, but I think it would be better if you spent some time alone to digest all of this.” Andy snarled again, but she didn’t pay attention.

“If you’re in a hurry to go, we can sign out now with a little compulsion,” she said, grinning at him. When he didn’t react, she looked truly sad, like her feeling were hurt, but she nodded. “Um, to sign out, we have to give her a name. Got anything in mind?”

Andy stared at her in disbelief. He was shaking all over in rage and fear and betrayal and unbearable sadness, chilling him to the bone because he LOVED this girl, and he was very past the point of thinking of a name for a tiny new human.

“Camilla,” he sighed at last, and Andrea laughed.

“Like the vampire?” she said, and Andy glared off into the distance. She nodded.

“Okay, I’ve got a middle name, then, if we’re gonna be funny about it,” she turned to smile at the baby. “Carmilla Lucy Hurley.”

“Great,” Andy said, feeling more hollowed out than he ever had before. He sat there, dead eyed while Andrea filled out all the paperwork, only holding his baby daughter briefly.

Carmilla. She was still sleeping, more peaceful than he could remember babies being. Most of his knowledge about children were memories of screaming infants, so as squishy faced and inhuman as Carmilla looked, he took her silence as a good omen. He tried to bounce her gently like Andrea had, but her bright green eyes cracked open, and she gave him a disapproving look, so stern and unusual for an infant that he instantly stilled his arms.

The taxi ride back to the apartment was dead silent, and Andy felt much safer as he held the tiny ball of warmth that was still, weirdly enough, his kid, close to his chest, so he did not hand her off to Andrea when Andrea joined him. She pursed her lips, but said nothing. Andy wondered if any of the nurses or doctors found it odd that both mother and baby seemed to need no medical assistance only hours after the birth, the mother, in face, walking away with hardly a limp. Then again, he imagined she was compulsing the people around her. She seemed better at compulsion than Andy, but he never tried to use compulsion. The thought of it always frightened him too much.

Hours had passed, and Andy realized once he got in the door that he hadn’t checked his phone at all. Joe jumped up from the couch, looking completely fried.

“Hey dude,” Joe said, his face cracking into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Holy shit, dude, is that a fucking kid?”

Sure his words would fail him, Andy just nodded. Joe walked over to her, his smile reaching a little bit further up his face, when Andy heard Andrea speak from behind him.

“Stay away from my daughter, dog,” she growled. Joe stepped back, looking at Andrea with the same hurt, confused expression that mirrored the one Andy had been wearing for much of the day.

“The fuck?” he asked, eyebrows raised. He looked at Andy in confusion, but Andy was still frozen, confused again, clinging to his daughter for dear life.

“I said I don’t want you coming near my daughter, mongrel,” she said, her lips stretching over and extending the word “Mongrel.”

“What?” Andy asked, his voice whiny and confused.

“There’s a reason I only took two of them,” Andrea said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want to put up with this idiot dog. I honestly thought he’d be smart enough to figure out that this is your fault and take off.”

“You took two of us?” Joe asked sharply. “What did you do with them?”

“I’m keeping their blood warm for some guests of mine,” she said, smiling widely. Joe’s head snapped to Andy, still wearing that mirrored look of betrayal, but Andy couldn’t unfreeze himself, was still stuck and numb.

“Is she serious?” Joe asked, his voice quiet, disbelieving.

Andy swallowed. He tried to say something, anything, to explain, but all he got out was a very choked, “I didn’t know.”

“Bullshit,” Joe breathed. “I can’t believe you you FUCKING LEECH!”

“I didn’t-” Andy pleaded, his voice still soft, but Andrea laughed.

“What, you lived with me for nine months and we had a child and we didn’t notice? Get real, babe, just let him go,” Andrea laughed. Joe stared daggers at Andy, giving him one last betrayed look before turning to Andrea.

“Where are they?” he demanded.

“I’ll let them go eventually,” she said coolly. “Don’t you worry your furry little head about it.”

“I’ll find them,” Joe vowed. “I’ll find them and I’ll stake your ass-”

“I’d like to see you try, really, I would,” she said, laughing in a cold, cruel way that Andy had never heard on her before. “But for now, if you’ll please excuse us,” she brushed past him, walking into Pete’s room. Joe refused to even look at Andy.

“I didn’t know!” Andy pleaded again, trying not to shake Carmilla in his arms.

“Then why the fuck are you still with her?” Joe asked, looking away.

“I have to,” Andy said. “She said I have to, that they’re collateral, that they’ll be safe if I go with her.”

“Well isn’t that fucking convenient?” Joe huffed, venom dripping out of his voice.

“You know me!” Andy tried.

“I was right the first time, I think,” Joe said. “Vampires only ever take.”

“It’s not like that,” Andy said, but Andrea came out with two backpacks.

“Ready sweetheart?” she asked. Andy shook his head, but she walked over to him, grabbing his face with her hands.

“Listen to me, okay babe? It’s gonna be alright. I just need you to put on a happy face while we enter, and we’ll talk more later, yeah?” she said, and Joe growled.

“Get out of my fucking apartment,” he breathed, Andrea rolled her eyes and hefted the backpacks up onto her shoulders, one on each.

“Fine,” she sighed, turning to walk away. Andy was halfway out the door when she turned, jumping at Joe suddenly and aggressively. He screamed, but she stopped inches from him, a mere feint.

“Don’t ever tell me what to do, mutt,” she said, and turned away, walking out with Andy.

“What now?” Andy asked dully.

“Now?” Andrea smiled up at him sweetly, fake. Like chipped paint, no longer a thing of beauty. “Now we take you back to headquarters.”

***

More than anything, Joe felt frustrated. Granted, there was also the betrayal of trust, the worry that accumulated when two of your friends were being used as vampire food, and the anxiety of how the hell he was going to explain this to their manager, but he was mostly frustrated.

After Andy and Andrea left the apartment, he realized that he might have slightly overreacted. It was sloppy of Andy, but that didn’t make it his fault. But Joe was angry and acting rash, and how was he supposed to reconcile things now?

The best option, he decided eventually, was to get more allies. There was no way he could take on two vampires alone, and he had no idea how many Andrea might or might not have amassed. That reasoned, he decided that now was as good a time as any to begin calling in favors.

He started with calling Chris, then Bill and the rest of The Academy Is…, the entirety of the great Chicago area pop punk scene, and every single one of them responded by being more distressed than him.

“When you say ‘kidnapped by vampires,’ do you literally mean Pete Wentz was  ACTUALLY kidnapped by ACTUAL vampires?”

“YES,”

“Well now what?”

“That would be why I’m calling you; I need help!”

“Well, yeah, okay, but this is what people call you guys for help with!”

“I remember, care to return the favor?”

“I don’t know how to fight vampires!”

And so on. Joe also had to work around the major flaw in this plan- not having Pete. Pete was the one with the list of contacts long enough to loop up and down Lake Shore Drive twice, Pete was the one with the charm enough to convince people to help them out. Joe had never missed his friend so much, needed him so much. Patrick even would have been better at this- he remembered people’s names and knew how to get their numbers and knew how to be polite and charming. Joe would have traded anything to have either of them there to do the talking.

Eventually, whether out of guilt or pity or loyalty to their friendship, Joe got Chris, Gabe Saporta, and all of The Academy Is… in the apartment, looking up at him expectantly. Joe kept looking nervously at the clock. He had to believe that the guys had days, at least, but he didn’t have any information at all.

“Hey,” Joe said, giving them all an uncomfortable half smile that was mostly grimace. “So, vampires…” he trailed off. Being the center of attention, so rapt and serious was more than a little uncomfortable, but thankfully Sisky jumped in.

“I think it might be the same people who took me!” he said, eager and wide eyed. Joe realized, for the first time, that this kid looked really young. He tried not to think about it. People’s lives were on the line, his friends’ lives were on the line, there was no time to feel guilty, even if he was asking high schoolers to fight vampires. “Because after you guys found me, I had these,” he said, and pulled his head all the way down to rest on his left shoulder. Joe gasped in disbelief, staring at the puncture marks all over his neck. They were mostly faded, the white-ish color of old scars, but there were lots of them

Bill hissed when he saw the marks, but didn’t say anything.

“Shit,” Joe breathed, reaching out without thinking, laying one hand on Sisky’s neck. The scars felt abnormally hot, and Joe nodded sitting back.

Everyone in Sisky’s band looked solemn, but Gabe looked horrified.

“You were kidnapped by vampires too? Is this just common in Chicago?” he asked, distraught. Joe let out a short snort of laughter, then shook his head.

“Not as far as I know,” he sighed. “You remember anything about where you were?” he asked Sisky. With a sad look, Sisky shook his head.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just remember waking up really suddenly. But we have to figure out where they are before we do anything, yeah? So we could check the hotel where you found me?”

“It’s a start,” Joe agreed, standing up. He looked around at all of them, then bit his lip. “I don’t know if all of us will fit in the van.”

“We’ll be fine,” Bill said. He winked across the room at Gabe and said “Some of us will just have to sit in each other’s laps, that’s all.”

Joe rolled his eyes, and they all got in.

They came across two major problems at the hotel. Firstly, it seemed that most hotels didn’t allow teenagers to wander into their rooms, but even once Bill charmspoke their way up to the room Sisky had been found in, there was nothing there to indicate that anything abnormal was going on. All of them scanned the room up and down for the better part of an hour before Joe was forced to conclude that the hotel room was simply that- a hotel room.

He more than half expected all of them to simply go home once he got back to the apartment, leaving him stuck at square one, but to Joe’s great shock, Chris just announced that they were back to the drawing board, and took over Pete’s computer, pulling up MapQuest.

“So, let’s think,” Chris said to the room behind him. “If you were setting up a vampire meeting, where would you do it?”

“We know they picked a hotel last time,” Bill said.

“Maybe someplace with less windows,” Gabe said.

“The ideal would be an underground hotel, haha,” Mike smirked.

“Or like, an abandoned one? With the windows boarded up?” Joe suggested with a shrug.

“That’s a start!” Chris said, typing something in rapidly.

They worked for hours, guessing and checking locations until long after the sun went down. Even when it was midnight and everyone was sleepy, all they did was ask Joe for blankets.

“You can probably sleep on their beds too,” Joe said, vaguely uncomfortable with the idea, but without another, brighter idea.

Once split up on the beds and sofa, hardly anyone was left on the floor, and Joe fell asleep the first night still too scared to sleep heavily, but feeling much more hopeful than he had when he woke up. The strangest thing, he thought, was that it had only been a day.

In the following days, though their ideas and plans changed, Joe was endlessly grateful for the tireless loyalty of his companions.

***

The room that Andrea had settled Andy into was enormous. Far two big for three people, with the huge, larger than king sized bed, the plush couches, the crib…

Everything was uncomfortably ornate, too. Thick blankets, thick rug, gold and red brocade pattern on everything. There was an enormous plasma screen TV in front of the couch, a kitchen stocked with all of Andy’s favorite food. The bright Morningstar Farms packages stood out in sharp contrast to the fancy kitchenware.

It was a tiny universe inside that room, so much so that Andy could almost forget that he was being held prisoner as well.

Andrea had dropped him off and told him to make himself feel at home before grabbing Carmilla and whisking away, saying there were a few people she had to see. Neither one of them trusted their daughter with the other, though Andy did have to admit she had more reason to fear than he. Still, he loved the tiny creature, though he was often bewildered by it and the fact that it was his  _daughter._

Andrea came back after an hour or two, rocking Carmilla back and forth and shushing her. She looked at Andy questioningly, seeming to ask whether or not it was okay before she hesitantly pulled up her shirt, holding Carmilla up to breastfeed. In spite of everything, Andy was still sad that there was this sudden distance between the two of them, even if it was, undoubtedly, her fault.

The room was filled with an awkward silence while they were together, until Andrea winced, pulling Carmilla back. She pulled her shirt down quickly, but Andy could see the blood spotting her shirt over her nipple. He was proud of not laughing out loud.

Afterward, she told Andy they were going to dinner.

“Are we eating, or drinking?” Andy asked, scowling at her. She rolled her eyes at him.

“Eating first,” she said. “We’re going out to eat with some very important people.”

Andy scoffed when Andrea handed him a suit, but she insisted, so he reluctantly put on the full ensemble, even agreeing when she insisted he pull his hair back. It was sunset outside when they left, which was strange to Andy, having missed the day in a windowless room.

Andy understood the formal wear when they arrived at the restaurant. For one thing, people were not allowed to enter the restaurant if they were not in either a suit or a dress. He thought back on the Princess Peach dress with wistfulness.

It made even more sense when they were seated with three men dressed in very expensive suits.

“Andy,” Andrea said, gesturing to the other three men, “May I introduce you to Daniel Peters, Erin Stevens, and Mayor Daley.” Andy, very carefully, did not let his jaw drop, but merely nodded politely and shook each of their hands.

“I’ve hear about all the good work you’re doing,” Daley said to Andrea. “Very excited, of course, for all this business to come to Chicago. Such a boom! And you haven’t made a dent in disappearances or crime at all! Tell me, how did you accomplish all this?”

“We only bring in willing donors,” Andrea said, sipping delicately at her drink. “And only for small chunks of time. I’d like to thank all of you for making this possible.”

“Well, of course, we knew your father,” Daley laughed, a bit pompously, in Andy’s opinion. “As long as this agreement continues to be mutually beneficial, why would we change a thing?”

After hours of this, Andy watching all these important men, one of whom turned out to be a hotel manager, and the third he did not know quite what, he was thoroughly ready to leave. Daley ordered wine for the five of them, which Andy did not touch. Andrea rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t force the issue, thankfully.

After the dinner, they walked back through the streets, Andrea still holding Carmilla tightly. Andy had never seen a quieter baby, and he wondered briefly if she were injured somehow.

As they walked, they talked.

“I wish you would stay,” Andrea said, staring up at the stars.

“I wish you weren’t planning a genocide,” Andy replied. Andrea made a hmming noise in the back of her throat, and continued walking.

“It’s not a genocide exactly,” she said after a long pause. “We’re not gonna kill most of them. We’re going to turn a certain amount of pregnant women for a generation, and once we get strong enough, we’ll stop the human population from breeding. We can do that relatively humanely, and eventually they’ll die out on their own.”

“Relatively humanely?” Andy repeated. Andrea grimaced.

“It might be hard to tie everyone’s tubes, but who knows, maybe we’ll find a better way in the next twenty years.”

Andy shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Come on,” Andrea sighed. “You know how wrong this world is!”

“I’m not gonna take away people’s rights to try and sculpt the world to be mine.” Not that Andy wasn’t tempted, but he wasn’t going to give her an inch.

They eventually made it back to headquarters, a large hotel that was, according to the sign, undergoing renovations in the right wing, but Andy knew better. The entire place was dedicated to their large vampire convention.

“There’s a few more people I want to introduce you to,” Andrea said, and Andy groaned.

“How much work does this all entail?” he asked miserably.

“It’s a full time job, believe me,” Andrea sighed. With that, they went to dinner part two, a quieter affair in one of the lower lounges that still had the windows open to the world, light from the streetlamps pouring in and a man playing piano in the background. Andy could smell that he was human, but they were talking business loud enough that he surely must be in the know.

“Yes, my partner, Andy,” Andrea kept introducing him gracefully. having him shake hands with dozens of people, all of them rapturously focused on the couple. Andy felt, for once, like the center of everything. As though all the world revolved around him. It was mostly, but not entirely unpleasant. He tried to force down any feelings of enjoyment.

This, at least, seemed more social than business. All of them congratulated him on the child, said how happy they were for him, asked him what he did for a living. He checked with Andrea first, and she told him to tell the truth in all situations except what he thought of the whole project.

“Tell them you didn’t know until today,” she ordered. “The less you lie, the more people will believe you. All you should lie about is saying you’re very excited to help me in this endeavor.”

So Andy did. It wasn’t as difficult as he had expected it to be, which was nice.

It seemed like they were there until dawn, but before morning light even threatened them, Andrea led him up to the bedroom. She looked sadly at the bed.

“I can sleep on the couch if you like,” she offered. She sounded morose, and Andy bit his lip, sighing heavily.

“No, it’s fine,” he said at last, stripping down rather than changing into anything and crawling under the covers. “Bed’s so big I probably won’t even notice.” He put his glasses on the bedside table and tried, badly, to look like he was asleep until he felt the sink in the bed next to him. Every inch of him yearned to roll over, reach out to her, and hold her tight through the night as he once had, but he knew deep down that he couldn’t.

It felt like he had only lain there a minute when Andrea was shaking his shoulder again.

“What time is it?” he groaned, covering his head with a pillow.

“Ten AM, so very late for vampires, but come on, get up, it’s time to make an address,” Andrea said urgently, yanking Andy from the bed. He groaned more, but reluctantly got dressed in the same suit Andrea had given him before, only this time with a blood red tie. He asked if it was a joke.

“Vampires just really like red,” Andrea sighed, wearing a long red evening gown, which looked laughable at ten in the morning, Andy thought.

She snatched up Carmilla, who had been sleeping, and the  baby (finally) started to cry, but a few gentle rocks quickly shushed her as Andrea steered Andy out to a balcony that overlooked a sort of ballroom, filled with people.

“Hello to all of you,” she said in a sonorous, commanding voice with no aid of a microphone. “You all have gathered here in the name of science, in the name of the future, in the name of our kind, and in the name of the world.”

A few cheers rang out. Andy thought he heard a southern voice shouting “Amen!” in the back.

“For TOO LONG our kind has hidden in the shadows,” she declared, banging her fists on the rail in punctuation. “And for TOO LONG we have been treated as leeches, scavengers, parasites, when we know who the real parasites are!”

She must have met all of them before, Andy thought, for they all clung to her every word.

“But thanks to some incredible ingenuity, I stand here before you,” she said, smiling. “I, more powerful than our kind ever dreamed we could become! I can walk in sunlight!” she cried, and they all cheered.

“Now you may wonder, but how will this help you? And I can only tell the truth- it may not. But I implore you, some of you for the first time in over a thousand years, to think about the future! To think of future generations. In a great success, my partner and I, the first of our kind, the first vampires with powers such as these, have been blessed with a child!” She held Carmilla up, too high, too much like a trophy, and Andy lurched forward, barely suppressing the urge to yank her out of her mother’s hands.

“We can intermingle with humans!” she declared. “And we can create a community that belongs to all of us, caring for the earth as only immortals can, with the youth and fresh ideas of humans. A better life for all of us!

“Furthermore, think of how far we’ve come, ladies and gentlemen. Think of the fact that this has been made possible! Thousands of vampires convened under one roof. While I don’t expect to convince you in one night, please, imagine what all could be done if all of us work together as the humans do. Think of how powerful we could become, and how great a world we could make this. Thank you.”

She and Andy walked back into the bedroom, and Andy looked at her.

“Impressive,” he admitted. She smiled at him weakly, openly, the way she used to.

“Convinced?”

“Not in the slightest.”

***

Pete couldn’t keep track of the time. He thought to himself that maybe this would be bearable, the two warm room, the whole being prisoners experience, if only he could tell the time.

Mostly, he and Patrick tried to guess by the times meals came in and when they slept. After two meals and no sleeps, Andrea and a baby walked in, to his great surprise.

“Hi guys!” she said, bright and perky as ever. They were, at first, happy to see her, but it quickly became obvious that she was not there as their friend.

“Andrea, you have to help us, we’ve gotta get out of here!” Patrick had pleaded, and she gave him a sad look.

“Listen,” she said, her tone of voice reminding Pete of some of his bitchier break ups. “I’m really sorry that this is going to be difficult for you guys, but I’m afraid you have to stay here. You see, I ordered you here in the first place.”

Once that was said, Pete lost any faith in Patrick’s ability to understand the phrase “not showing his hand,” and while he was upset that Patrick had hurt his hand, he very much enjoyed watching Andrea’s nose bleed. He was also happy to see that she had brought clothes for them to change into, as well as Patrick’s Walkman and Pete’s Gameboy. That helped.

“Blood money,” Patrick called it derisively, but Pete noticed that didn’t stop him from listening to the music.

Despite having just been assaulted, Andrea was very helpful, explaining the whole situation, how they were there as incentive to keep Andy in line, she didn’t want them to be feeders but it wasn’t her choice, what a DTK was…

“It stands for Drink To Kill,” she said with distaste. “Mostly the desert vampires, you know? Nomads, solitaries, renegades. It’s seen as uncivilized in most vampire societies, but they claim there’s a greater thrill to waiting till they’re nearly starving and then drinking till their victim is dead.”

“And you let one drink from me?” Patrick squeaked.

“They aren’t allowed to do that here,” Andrea said flatly. “Here, they follow my rules.”

Pete could see the slight deception in her words, but couldn’t tell what it was. Sometimes his powers were really fucking ridiculous.

Six meals and two sleeps after that, they had both had to use the wall-less toilet, unfortunately. The other would always turn around, listen to Patrick’s music, but it was still awkward at best. Pete had sprung for a shower, and was working on Patrick to do the same, seriously, dude, you smell like the bottom of my laundry hamper and there’s a curtain, when the door opened again.

The same girl from before was there, smiling brightly with another, significantly older woman in tow.

“Hi guys!” she said brightly. Turning to the woman, she said, “Patrick’s the one with lighter hair. Please don’t bite the other one, he’s poisonous.”

“My goodness,” the woman said, her eyebrows raised, but her face still poised in a superior smirk. “How awful. Why do you keep the creature around?”

“Long story,” the waitress smiled. The woman smiled back then walked over to Patrick where he sat on his bed.

“Pretty young thing, aren’t you, little blood slut,” the vampire purred. Pete watched as Patrick twitched away, but made no move to interfere. He knew it was worse than hopeless.

“We don’t use that term around here, madame,” the waitress said, her voice suddenly cold. The vampire woman rolled her eyes.

“Must we all be _so_  PC? Fine,” she turned back to Patrick, taking his chin in one hand, “He’s still quite pretty. I don’t suppose we-?”

“Not while you’re in town, no,” the waitress said, her polite facade completely gone. The woman rolled her eyes again, muttered something about no fun at all, and sank her teeth into Patrick’s neck.

Pete winced, seeing the throb of red spread it’s way across Patrick’s aura. It hurt just to look at, and as much as it shamed him, Pete looked away while he heard Patrick whimper.

After a minute, the waitress told her to stop, and yet again, the woman didn’t stop.

“Stop now,” the waitress commanded a second time, and when the woman again refused to oblige, the waitress pulled her off of Patrick. The woman licked her lips, looking greedily at Patrick.

“Sorry,” she said to the waitress. “He’s absolutely intoxicating.”

“Happy to help,” Patrick spat, inhaling fast and sharp. The vampire licked her teeth this time, then billowed out the door.

“DTK?” Pete asked the waitress in a monotone.

“Self proclaimed succubus, far worse,” the waitress said, shaking her head. “No morality, and- well, it’s not my place to judge other people’s lifestyles,” she sighed, and walked out as well.

As soon as she was gone, Pete launched himself onto Patrick’s bed, placing a hand in between his shoulder blades.

“You okay?” he asked, and Patrick winced, nodding. It was a lie, but sometimes, Pete realized, it was better to just let people lie.

***

On his third day in the hellish vampire hotel (that was actually probably five stars) Andy received a text. All it said was “Call me, urgent,” but he had a feeling he knew who it was from.

“I’m gonna call my manager, all right?” he called to Andrea, who was breast feeding in the bathroom.

“Fine!” she called back. Andy ran to the opposite side of the room and called, with his volume down as low as he could possibly get it.

“Oh, bless your overly trusting ass,” Joe hissed on the second ring.

“Hey,” Andy said, simply hearing Joe’s voice making him feel like a ten pound weight had been taken off his chest.

“I’ve got a small army, you ready to put up a resistance?” Joe asked.

“I think- I mean, maybe,” Andy said. “You sure it might not be better to wait this one out?”

“You tell me,” Joe said, and Andy explained what had been going on.

“Well,” Joe said when Andy again asked for his opinion. “I’m all for not eradicating the human race, so let’s kick some ass.”

“How big’s your small army?” Andy asked.

“There are eight of us,” Joe said, sounding proud, but Andy groaned.

“That’s way too small,” Andy said. “There are thousands of vampires here!”

“Thousands?” Joe choked. “What the fuck do we do?”

Andy snuck a furtive look at the closed bathroom door and lowered his voice, “I’ve got a plan,” he said, “But it’s crazy. And I have to go. Can I text you?”

He texted Joe the plan. And, after waiting an eternity, Joe responded with “Let’s do it.”

Andrea came out of the bathroom, smiling a small smile at Andy.

“You wanna just hang out in here tonight?” she asked. For some reason, Andy felt an overwhelming surge of guilt crash through his body as he nodded stiffly.

***

“Hi,” Joe said, smiling his widest, fakest smile. He felt like all eyes in the lobby were on him, sure that everyone could smell him even through Patrick’s clothes, sure they could tell.

The man at the front desk gave Joe judgemental elevator eyes, appraising him in Patrick’s ratty, too short jeans judgmentally.

“Can I help you?” he asked, superiority pouring from him like a fountain.

“I’d like to volunteer,” Joe said, and the worker raised his eyebrows somehow higher.

“Volunteer?” he asked.

“As a feeder,” Joe confirmed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired. So, so tired, you guys. I've got a fall out boy concert in a few hours, but I promised you a chapter by the end of the month and you know what, it's still June somewhere in the world. send me your well wishes and caffeine. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think!
> 
> Chapter Title by Fall Out Boy.


	12. Dead on Arrival part Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's what you missed on Glee- Pete and Patrick were being held hostage by vampires, with Patrick being fed off of by the vampires. Andy's girlfriend gave birth and revealed that she ran a vampire eugenics program and was holding Pete and Patrick hostage to make Andy say what she wanted. Joe offered to be a feeder to become a sleeper agent in the hotel. Get prepared to overthrow the world's largest convention of vampires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings ahead for death, murder, needles, blood, shameless peterick, etc. Thank you guys for sticking around!

 

Keeping track of the days was getting to be extremely difficult for Andy. He knew it couldn’t have been very long, but every evening he spent next to Andrea in physicality and miles away in spirit felt an eternity. As much as he loathed her, even now, he knew that he’d never been in love like that before. Never been quite so attached before. And never, ever been so close. The further along she got in the pregnancy, the less overall doubts Andy had had. He went to her rallies, she went to all of his shows. Everyone in the band looked at them in jealousy when they had a fight, because they were the ideal relationship. Perhaps he should have known it was too good to be true, but he hated to believe so. He had Put so much trust in her.

It hurt all the worse because he had to remind himself that it hurt. In that perfect, gilded room sometimes in midday when Carmilla woke them crying, they would both awake, and Andy would rock her while Andrea got blood out of their personal stash in the room. She would feed the baby while Andy held her, and once the baby calmed, she would coo up at the two of them, snatching off Andy’s glasses if she was close enough. The first time this happened, Andrea laughed, putting the comically mis sized glasses on Carmilla’s face, she and Andy laughing while the bewildered baby blinked up at them from behind his frames. It was so easy to forget, to believe that they were a normal, too young family, still caught up in the throes of young love.

But evening always came eventually, and when they woke up for good, Andrea was still the young queen of an evil vampire organization bent on world domination.

***

_You're going to get caught_ , a voice deep inside Joe’s brain was hissing. _You're going to get killed_.

Mostly, he wanted to tell the voices in his head to shut the fuck up.

This was the least foolproof plan of all time. If anything, anything at all went wrong, then all four of them were screwed. Andy would get found out. Joe, Pete and Patrick would get killed. So, Joe had to just remind himself to act natural.

Act natural, and have smoked so much weed he could hardly walk. This served two purposes, as Andy had explained to him. Firstly, it covered up the “heavy stench of werewolf,” as Andy had called it, followed by a hasty “no offense.” Joe had to admit, much as he hated to, that Andy had a point. Full vampires were hard to miss the smell of, and with their heightened senses, they should have been able to smell Joe coming from a mile away. For added extra protection, he was wearing Patrick’s clothes. Andy claimed that Patrick smelled so aggressively human that it combined with the weed would make Joe’s actual species almost undetectable. However, the second reason he was so high was in an attempt to lower his own heart rate. It was only four lives or “possibly all of Chicago and the world” resting on his shoulders, and a jumpy heart would give him away far too fast.

Of course, he didn’t have to worry so much about acting natural now that he was in one of the hotel rooms with the boarded up windows. The worst had been attempting to sign up at the front desk.

The man there had stared at him blankly after Joe told him he had wanted to be a feeder, and asked in a polite and condescending voice what Joe was talking about. Panic ensued in Joe’s head at this, wondering if he had gotten the wrong hotel or if this man didn’t know what was going on or any number of terrible things that could have gone wrong. Still, he stood his ground, attempted to puff out his chest in Patrick’s too-tight 504 Plan shirt and repeated himself.

Joe and the man at the desk were caught in a stare off for a moment. Eventually, the man raised an eyebrow, asking Joe for more. He swallowed, really, really hoping he wouldn’t get caught in this lie.

“I heard about you from Adam Siska,” he said, his most dangerous and most useful card. The man behind the counter raised one long, thin eyebrow, but pulled a thick, dark red binder out from behind the desk. He flipped through it painfully slowly, licking his thumb each time he turned the page.

“He was helping back in March,” Pete elaborated. The man gave him a withering stare, then flipped back a huge chunk of the pages, and began to read through names more carefully. His eyes widened eventually, and he nodded, briskly snapping the book shut.

“Name, age, and blood type?” he asked. Joe swallowed thickly. Andy warned him it might be safer to tell the truth, but he didn’t like the idea of his name going in that creepy red book.

“Mark Trohman,” he said slowly, which wasn’t much of a change, but might throw Andrea off. “I’m twenty, and type B negative.”

The man nodded again, and produced a set of very old looking brass keys from behind the counter, handing them to a bell hop that seemed to appear from out of nowhere.

“Take him up to his room,” the man ordered, and smiled thinly at Joe. “You’ll understand, of course, we can’t let you have your own key. Security purposes.”

Joe nodded, hoping that his heart rate was still normal.

“We’ll collect a sample for the menu later this evening, Mr. Trohman,” he said, and waved at Joe. “Have a pleasant day.”

The bellhop had stuck out his arm for Joe’s duffel bag, but Joe kept it clutched tightly against his side. Everything about holding that bag would be suspicious, from its scent to its weight.

Up in the room, Joe was quickly discovering that he was mostly bored. No longer under the immediate threat of death, all there was to do was wander around the room, grazing the food provided and staring at the placeholder hotel artwork. He didn’t even have a roommate to worry about like most people did.

Eventually, he decided to read over the texts from Andy again and make sure he hadn’t missed anything important. It was all info he knew by heart now, but it was a comfort to read again. Everything Andy sent was calculated, clearly carrying his tone even though they were just instructions. It all had punctuation. He told Joe to be careful seven separate times. It was really endearing, and Joe felt sort of bad for the way he had treated Andy earlier.

Actually, he felt bad for Andy in general. Joe had acted out in anger, but he couldn’t imagine what the past few days had been like for his friend. Betrayed by his girlfriend, abandoned by his other friends, and probably he felt worse about Pete and Patrick being locked up than Joe did, because he was probably blaming himself for it. It must have been miserable.

Andy’s instructions were complicated, but easy to understand. Wear Patrick’s clothes, and only Patrick’s clothes (even with wolf senses, it was hard to tell them apart from Pete’s or Andy’s because they mostly smelled like, well, dirty laundry, but Andy assured him that vampire senses were more fine tuned.) Smoke until the scent permeated the clothes as well, and until your heart rate lowers. Pack a bag full of weapons stakes, and fire starting materials. Go to the Drake Hotel and sign up as a feeder. Get to the hotel room and try to find Pete and Patrick, if you can’t, wait for the signal.

Joe wasn’t particularly in the mood to wait, but what else was there for him to do? The room had almost a hundred channels, a first for any hotel room Joe had stayed in, and nothing was on. He was locked in the room, so there was no way he could find Pete and Patrick. No way to know where the hell they even were…

Honestly, though it wasn’t entirely fair, given the emotional torment that Andy was going through, Joe wished he had gone really solidly one way or another. He could have agreed with Andrea fully, lied to get more information, more freedom, or he could have fully rebelled so he and Joe could have talked openly. But they had to work with what they had.

After an hour or so, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in?” Joe said, his voice a question. The door was locked from the outside. There wasn’t much he could do. The door popped open and a small team of vampires flocked in.

It was weird, Joe thought, to smell vampires so very strongly, but seeing the three that entered wearing such professional outfits, all in white labcoats, one wearing a pair of glasses that had to be cosmetic.

“You don’t need glasses,” he told the woman without thinking, sitting down in a folding plastic chair that they had brought in. She flashed him a small smile, the tips of her fangs hanging down over her lower lip.

“I don’t need glasses,” she agreed. She held up an empty syringe, set it down next to Joe, and began to tie a band around his arm to cut off the circulation. Even buzzed, Joe was still terrified of all of the sharp instruments being laid out, and he had to focus very hard on steadying his breathing while he looked at it. The girl in glasses seemed to be in charge, and the other two remained silent while she set up the station and stood up, placing the glasses atop her head instead.

“What all do you know about vampires, Mr. Trohman?” she asked. Joe swallowed, his throat dry and scratchy.

“They drink blood,” he said. She arched a perfectly tweezed eyebrow, snorting.

“You’re not going to get in trouble,” she said. “We require your services here, and frankly, our corporation is all for the normalization of human/vampire relationships.”

“I had a friend,” Joe admitted. The doctor smiled at him pleasantly.

“Just tell me what you know, and I’ll give you some information about what working here will be like,” she said. Working. Like this was part time at McDonalds.

“Um, garlic repelling them is a myth,” Joe said with an awkward laugh. He’d seen Andy inhaling vegan breadsticks enough to know this beyond a doubt. “Holy water and crosses aren’t. You guys can cross running water and you do show up in mirrors, just fainter. You’re not exactly dead, per say…” he trailed off as he saw a huge, gigantic needle getting pushed into his forearm. He gasped, eyes widening, and the woman smiled sympathetically.

“Sorry if that pinched a bit, sweetie,” she said. “You were saying?”

“Not dead,” Joe said, his voice shaking now. “You, um, get turned by drinking blood and getting bitten, and you can’t go in the sun, yeah? Also, the vampire I knew, he didn’t, ah, kill people. You don’t have to kill people to feed, right?” It felt a bit late to ask that question, but watching his blood drip into a bag was making him nervous.

“Many vampires don’t kill people,” the woman agreed, watching the IV drip. Maybe Joe imagined it, but he thought she looked hungry. “Many do. Generally, it’s a regional thing.”

“Regional?” Joe laughed weakly. She nodded, going through a large rucksack she had with her and digging out a few other tools.

“In general,” she said. “Cities have groups in charge, types of gangs and leaders that control the vampire populations. Northern or rainier towns usually have the most human friendly vampires, some of them living in perfect peace with the city in full knowledge. The ones we have to watch out for,” her mouth set itself in a grim line, “Are the DTKs, as they call themselves. It stands for ‘drink to kill,’” she told a confused Joe.

“Where are they from?” Joe asked.

“Deserts, usually,” she said. “American Southwest, California- places where it’s hard to hide from the sun. Where if you make a mistake you can’t go back and correct yourself. They're nomads, as a general rule. Black mambas, we called them back home, because they're incredibly fast, incredibly deadly, and give no warnings."

"Where are you from?" Joe asked.

"Oregon," she said brightly, eyeing the almost full bag. "I'm pretty young, only three, and since I was going to med-school before, I have the most recent training."

"Three?" The girl was at least mid twenties. She tossed her head back in laughter again, and began unhooking Joe.

"I'd be twenty seven, in human years," she said, "but vampires count from the date they've been turned." Joe nodded, then turned to the bag of blood that one of the other women was carefully labeling as 'Mark Trohman.'

"Oh, that?" the doctor caught his questioning gaze. "No, the guests will feed from you directly, but we take a pint from all our donors as a, um, precautionary measure."

"Precautionary?" Joe asked.

"Against DTKs," she sighed. "We have monitors in the rooms, but if they go too far, having a little extra blood on hand can be the difference between life and death for our feeders. And we care, above all else, for your safety," she flashed him another grin.

"If they're such a danger, why even allow them here?" Joe asked. He felt sick to his stomach, remembering the way Andy had said Patrick's blood smelled different. _God they couldn't be dead_.

"They abide by our rules here," the doctor said. "And the organization would get a bad rep if we discriminated."

Joe nodded again, as though vampire politics were old hat for him. "Anyone else I should watch out for?"

The doctor made a face, halting in her work for a moment.

"Every city has different rules," she sighed, "but all cities have succubi and incubi. Not even real ones, mind you, just vampires who call themselves that." She shook her head in disdain. "Disgusting. We should be working _with_ humans..." She trailed off, picking up and empty syringe.

"This'll be for the menu, so that our guests can decide who would be appealing," she explained, pushing the needle into his other arm instead and pulling back on the plunger. Joe felt ill, watching it fill up with blood, but he was nearly done, he must be.

"Great, great job," she said, and then one of her associates pulled up a chair in front of him that she sat in, drawing a clipboard out. "I just have a few questions for you. Any dietary restrictions?" Joe shook his head, and she checked something off. "Any blood diseases, including but not limited to HIV, sickle cell-"

"Nothing," Joe said.

"Of course, we'll have it screened anyway, but it doesn't hurt to ask first," she said, smiling at him. "Is there any chance that there are drugs in your bloodstream right now?"

"Um, marijuana?" he said, the word sticking to the roof of his mouth, too clinical. She chuckled, to his surprise.

"That much was... Obvious." She scribbled something down while Joe's stomach twisted again.

"It's not a problem, is it?" he asked. She shook her head, laughing a little.

"Vampires can get a bit of a secondhand high from drinking the blood of someone with drugs in their system, so it's especially good for some of them."

Joe nodded, trying to conceal his panic. Part of this plan had been Andy assuring him that he would definitely not have to actually get fed off of. He didn't know enough other werewolves to know if vampire venom was toxic for werewolves, but he was in no mood to find out. Hopefully, his blood would smell unappealing enough to ward them off.

"Lastly, how much do you know about our operation?" she asked.

"Next to nothing," Joe lied, barely missing a beat. He wasn't sure if he could get more info by saying nothing or telling the truth, but unassuming must make him look better, he imagined.

He guessed wrong.

"It's probably better that way," she said brightly. "At the end of your stay, we will provide you with one thousand dollars for each feeding, plus any tips the guests have deigned to give you. Call one on the room phone if we can give you absolutely anything to make your stay more comfortable," her associates had packed up nearly everything, tipping Joe out of his chair to take that away as well. "My name is Doctor Olivia Thorne, and I'll be in charge of your case."

As they whisked out the door, she turned and repeated  "call if you need absolutely anything!"

After the door shut, Joe exhaled fully for the first time since they entered. 

***

Andy: what's up?

Joe: I'm in.

Andy: u ok?

Joe: They took a pint of blood already.

Joe: Just procedure in case I get hurt, I guess. Didn't get bit yet, haha.

Andy: r u okay???? Do you need me to get you out???

Andy: oh. Nvm.

Andy: stay safe

Joe: Thanks, mom.

***

"Do you think anyone's going to notice that I'm wearing the same suit to every occasion you take me to?" Andy asked. He tugged at the cuffs of his shirt, staring at himself appraisingly in the mirror. Andrea had done a job making him look presentable, his hair slicked and cleaned and pulled back. New Ray Bans glasses. Professional shave. Extra thick, opaque white shirts that covered almost all of his tattoos. She wanted to cut his hair, but he had put his foot down there. She eventually relented, saying the hairstyle made him look younger, and people "trust younger leaders more anyway."

"All good suits look the same," Andrea said. It was culture shock, to say the least, to see her place in large, teardrop shaped diamond earrings. Especially after the blood diamond protest she had taken him to a few months back. "Besides, we rarely see the same people twice. Zip me up?"

Andy's heart broke as he looked at her. She wore a long blue dress that twinkled when she moved, and her eyes were so wide and innocent looking. His heart stung, but he stepped over to her and placed a hand on the small of her back, pulling the zipper up as she sighed into him.

"I'm worried about Carmilla," she said, though she didn't look worried.

"Mmm?"

"She's so quiet!" Andrea said. "And she only ever sleeps! Do you think we should've stayed in the hospital longer, since she's a little premature?"

"Newborns are like this, right?" Andy asked. He hadn't found it alarming until she mentioned it, but he now turned to the sleeping baby, concerned.

"I don't know! I don't know shit about newborns!" She cried.

"Neither do I!" Andy yelled back. "But she must be doing okay, right?"

"I don't know! What the fuck do I know about infants?"

"You gave birth to one!" Andy yelled, but as soon as the words were out, he began to laugh, and so did she. They both laughed and laughed, clutching their sides and choking on laughter until Andrea's makeup ran.

"All parents of infants are crazy, right?" Andrea choked out, tears running down her face.

"Right," Andy laughed. He wiped some of the streaky eyeliner off her cheek, and kissed her gently. She looked at him, tears of laughter clinging to her eyelashes, but the laughter gone from her eyes.

"I love you," she said. And he loved her back, desperately, but saying it would make it much worse.

"We should be leaving." He said. And she nodded, scooping Carnilla up in her arms.

They walked down to the ballroom together, his arm laced with hers in a perfect mask of love. She whispered loving words to Carmilla under her breath, and rocking her gently.

“What is tonight, anyway?” Andy asked under his breath as they stood in front of the door.

“Vampire ambassadors from the various organizations,” Andrea said. Andy had been working on translating her political jargon, so it took him a second of blinking before he got it.

“Vampire gang leaders?” he asked. She winked at him.

“Don’t call them that,” she said, rolling her eyes.

The two of them stepped in the ballroom together, dozens of chandeliers releasing a starry glow onto an equally glittering crowd. Nearly a hundred well dressed individuals mingled in the space, too large for their group, but all the chatter and clinking of glasses stopped when Andy and Andrea walked in. Too many faces were staring into Andy’s and he felt somewhat dizzy. To his increased surprise, all of the men and women in the room bowed to him.

His mouth must have fallen open, because Andrea elbowed him and gestured evenly to her mouth, which he shut.

“It’s a symbol of respect among our kind,” she whispered. The both of them then bent down at the waist as well. The tightly tailored suit pulled at Andy’s skin, and he stood back up too fast.

“Well, has dinner been served yet?” Andrea asked pleasantly, diffusing the tension with ease. She was a born politician, oozing charm and charisma and, presumably, compulsion. Andy could feel it now that he knew it was happening, but how she was doing it so widely, he couldn’t say.

The whole crowd chuckled, and, to Andy’s horror, waiters walked out with trays full of tiny wine glasses, filled with something dark red that smelled like-

“Did they put blood in the wine?” Andy asked, feeling sick at his stomach.

“The blonde waitress,” Andrea gestured, “has a glass of red grape juice. No blood, though you should feed soon.”

“Do I get to pick off the menu too?” Andy asked, disdainful.

“They all offered to be here,” Andrea sighed.

“Not all of them,” Andy growled.

“Not all of them get to leave if you don’t calm down out here,” Andrea told him. Her eyes flashed dark, and Andy relented, pressing his lips together.

The night that followed was a meet and greet, of sorts. Andrea dragged Andy around like a well behaved dog, introducing him to “organization leaders” from all over. They all had different names they used to refer to themselves: covens, groups, gangs, all generally the same thing. There seemed to be one for every major city in the world, and some from more spread out regions. Some of them had names, some did not. Some were racially or sexually segregated, and every single one of them seemed to have a different opinion on humans.

Eric White, of the Chicago Blood Bats, was of the belief that humans should be avoided. Since Chicago was so much a business city, they ought to lie low but feel no fear at night, kill humans or not as they please, but not be obvious about it. Anna Abbott, of the Boston Dandies, thought that humans were beneath them, and she turned selectively, picking those that she believed “most hopeful” as humans, and turning them to make her group stronger. Her eagerness at Andrea’s descriptions of dhampirs made Andy nervous.

Some of the people needed more convincing than others. The London vampires had been living in peace with the humans of their city for hundreds of years, apparently, and on top of feeling very uncomfortable with how “aggressive” American vampires were, the idea of merging communities, with vampires seen as the superior race, wasn’t one they were entirely open to.

Andy didn’t say a word, though they didn’t even know the half of it. All these peaceful vampires that didn’t want humans to feel subservient, how would they feel if they knew the true end of the project? Andrea wouldn’t give Andy the details, but he could imagine a world like this. Human farms, and vampires slowly getting eradicated so that people like he and Andrea could live at the top of the foodchain. Her idea of a perfect world, and he couldn’t say anything. He didn’t even have proof. Everyone in that room would get just as screwed over as his friends and his mom and the whole human race. But for now, Andrea needed their help. It was disgusting.

“You should interact with them more… independently,” Andrea said. Andy wanted to stomp and scream and rage, but he straightened his back and nodded, and went to talk to some of them on their own. Anna found him fairly quickly, looking entirely out of place in an old fashioned, almost Victorian black and white dress, and a white bowler hat.

“So,” she smiled. “You’re the father of the little monster, eh?”

“Carmilla,” Andy said, but he tried to give the same appealing smile that Andrea gave out so readily. “Ms. Abbott, correct?”

“You can call me Anna,” she said, but the name conjured up images of Patrick’s girlfriend, and how scared she probably was, no contact with him.

“Ms. Abbott, if you don’t mind," he said stiffly. She looked upset and somewhat taken aback at his words, but nodded.

“As you wish, Mr. Hurley,” she said, suddenly cold. “So, tell me, it seems almost as though Andrea is in charge, but this seems audacious to me.”

“Not audacious at all,” he said. Her pattern of speech was disturbing, very formal, and with a tone of speech that was almost an English accent. “I was raised out of the loop, only became aware of this very recently.”

“Really?” Anna’s eyes widened, and she sipped delicately at her bloodwine. “And what do you think of all this?”

“I’m…” The Dandies seemed, well, crazy, but also already very on board with the project. It wouldn’t hurt Andrea to tell the truth. “I’m a bit skeptical, I admit, but I’m all for integration.”

“Integration,” Anna scoffed, “Humans should learn their place, that’s what I say.”

_Do not lose your temper, do not lose your temper_ , he kept thinking to himself, he smiled a thinly stretched smile and nodded.

“I doubt that there’s one superior species,” he said.

“Well, I suppose you think more highly of humans because you are half, but you have to admit, we have superior strength, speed, intellect, we live indefinitely-”

“The allergy to the sun sort of holds us back,” Andy said dryly, still smiling like he wasn’t holding himself from punching her in the face.

“And it seems your spouse has found the cure to that,” Anna said. “I tell you, you should keep experimenting. One of you breed with a vampire, or someone bite her when she’s pregnant, see if you can get more powerful.” Her eyes were gleaming with excitement.

“I’ll pass on the message, but all I really did was help with the procreating.” He hoped that discussing his sex life was funny rather than vulgar, and luckily, she chuckled.

“Well, I love what you’re doing here,” she said. “I’d only recommend that you go more radical. The Dandies will stand behind you if you decide that vampire society should take over.”

“Thanks,” Andy said, teeth gritted. Andrea smiled. Brilliant, he was doing well.

***

Andy: theres a vampire gang from boston that talks like sherlock holmes and wants to enslave the human race

Joe: Sounds like supervillains.

Andy: they even have a name

Joe: A name?

Andy: The Dandies

Andy: i mean wtf

Joe: Man, I think getting Pete and Patrick out of here are the least of our worries.

***

Pete was all Patrick had in the world, his only reprieve from loneliness, utter insanity, and he was driving Patrick up the fucking wall.

         “Wanna play Twenty Questions?” he asked eagerly.

         “Unbelievably, my answer has not changed from when you last asked me that,” Patrick replied, banging his head against the headboard. They were both going stir crazy, and as Patrick wanted to retreat into himself, Pete kept extending outward. He took up more space, literal, figurative, head, the longer they were stuck together. It was suffocating.

“What are you listening to?” Pete asked.

“Green Day,” Patrick snapped, turning it up. It wasn’t loud enough to drown Pete out.

“Can I listen?”

“NO!” Patrick shouted, and covered his headphones with a pillow. He felt the bed shift as Pete sat down next to him, and Patrick wanted to sob. Maybe he was being too mean, maybe it was the blood loss, but after five sleeps and three feedings later, Patrick felt sort of dizzy and cold most of the time. Almost all of them managed to go over their time, and he highly doubted the waitress was marking this down in her calculations.

Worse than this, and part of the reason Patrick was so not in the mood to deal with Pete, was that Pete was actively flirting with her. She came over after the last feeding and started, getting distracted mid feeding by talking to Pete and now she visited to flirt with him, and, if he was correct about the sounds he heard from the bed last night, kiss him. .

Now that she was gone, Patrick was angry with Pete and Pete was acting like everything was fine.

"Dude!" Pete whined, pulling the pillow off of Patrick's head. Patrick yanked the blanket up to cover himself instead. Pete tried to pull it away, but Patrick held it up to his chin with all his might.

"I'm cold!" he snapped. Pete let the blanket drop, and Patrick clung to the top of it. He was cold, but he wanted Pete to leave him alone. He felt angry and tearful for no reason, and he wanted to be left alone and for Pete to stay right there all at once. Pete made a face at the emotions that were surely crossings Patrick's aura, but he seemed determined, keeping the blanket tugged down to below his chin.

"Leave me alone," Patrick said, glaring at Pete. Pete grimaced, but sat half in Patrick's lap, not moving.

"You need to shower."

Patrick's eyes narrowed. He tightened his fingers around the blanket, trying to hold it tighter, but it still felt loose.

"No I don't," Patrick said. It was a long running source of disagreement between the two, because Pete had showered twice, and Patrick was, to say the least, uncomfortable with the idea of showering in the room with the way it was set up. The shower curtain was opaque, but having the walls down made him feel strange and too vulnerable.

“You smell like a rotten fish stuffed in a sock,” Pete said, and Patrick growled at him.

“Don’t soften the blow for me,” he spat.

“I can’t lie,” Pete reminded him, which made Patrick feel much worse. Pete looked at him apologetically, and Patrick turned up the music and closed his eyes. He just felt Pete’s weight shirt closer and breath on his neck. After all this time in vampire captivity, breath on his neck wasn’t a good sign, and he shoved Pete off the bed, wide eyed and losing his headphones as he sat up, blanket clutched to his chest.

“What is your problem?” Patrick screamed, chest heaving. Pete was sprawled on the floor, rubbing his head.

“You not showering,” Pete said. “I mean, also landing on my head, but-”

“It’s weird with you in the room!” Patrick said.

“You literally smell like something rotting, and I swear to god I will shower you myself if I have to!” Pete said. Patrick reddened with anger and humiliation.

“You will fucking not!” Patrick screamed.

“Look, I’ll watch TV the whole time, but if you don’t do it soon-”

“Fuck you!” Patrick screamed. He was shaking, and really, really cold.

“Then I will take you in their myself,” Pete said.

“I’m not even sweating!” Patrick whined. His excuses felt feeble, and Pete raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re a teenage boy-”

“TWENTY-”

“And therefore in a semi-permanent state of leaking testosterone. Come on, the shampoo smells like a coconut breeze!”

Patrick stared at Pete, who stared back. And Patrick knew neither of them would ever back down. And he did have to shower, he knew that, but he was not going to give Pete the satisfaction.

“Why are you trying to bang the waitress?” Patrick snapped. Pete stood up, looking stung.

“The waitress’s name is Hannah, she’s a perfectly decent person,” Pete said, defensive suddenly.

“You know who else is a decent person? Your girlfriend!” Patrick said.

“I know she is!” Pete growled. “Am I not allowed to make friends?”

“You didn’t sound like just friends last night,” Patrick muttered. Pete, at least, had the decency to look ashamed. The late night make outs (and Patrick really, really hoped that they were just make outs) weren’t exactly subtle or quiet.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Pete said, his eyes dark.

“I don’t understand!” Patrick said. He felt stupid having this fight with a blanket wrapped around his neck, but it was too fucking cold.

Pete rolled his eyes and he climbed back on Patrick’s bed. He grabbed Patrick’s head in his, leaning in close to him so that their noses were pressed together.

“I am not going to sit around here waiting to get saved, so the more information I can get out of this girl, the better,” Pete growled, barely breathing the words. “I don’t know if they’re monitoring us or not, but we’re not going to escape by just sitting here and waiting to die.”

Patrick pretending like “sitting here and waiting to die” wasn’t hurtful, and inhaled deeply, whispering back.

“Why can’t you just use charmspeak to get us out of here?” Patrick asked. Pete rolled his eyes.

“Charmspeak doesn’t work on vampires,” he said. Patrick made a face.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Compulsion. Vampires have compulsion, which works similar to charmspeak, so I could try charmspeak on them, and it might work, but they’d know I did it, and they’d be able to report us.”

“Shit,” Patrick said. It didn’t come close to summarizing his feelings, but it was accurate. “So what do we do?”

“Strong guys, physical creatures, they play different games. They have to be strong and fast and physically superior. But, much like women in high fantasy novels, you and I have to fight with different weapons in this world,” Pete said. He tapped the side of his skull. Patrick rolled his eyes, and found that the motion hurt.

It felt like they had been there for a month at least, but based on Pete’s assumption that the vampires were feeding them three meals a day (Patrick’s were all beans and dark green vegetables and iron supplements) then he calculated that it had only been six or so days. Only a few hours after their argument had ended and Pete had temporarily forgotten about their shower issue, there was a knock at the door, followed by Hannah announcing that she was coming in.

“Hi boys,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She smiled shyly, fangs hanging out, and added “Hi Pete.”

“Deja vu,” Patrick said. It was almost like it was a usual after party for them. Hannah didn’t seem to notice, and if Pete did, he didn’t react.

“Patrick is over there,” Hannah told the man that followed, sounding bored as she gestured over to him. And even now that he understood, and even though he had a girlfriend that he missed desperately, Patrick couldn’t help the tiny jealous wave that rushed over him as she draped herself around Pete’s shoulders and Pete pressed his lips against her cheek. Maybe it was just easier to focus on than the vampire that was approaching him.

“Patrick?” the man asked. He had a heavy Boston accent, and was wearing a three piece suit, which seemed like overkill given that the last vampire had been in sandals and board shorts. Patrick liked that guy. He had asked Patrick what would be most comfortable, and he stopped as soon as Hannah told him to.

This man didn’t seem to share the same belief system. He grabbed Patrick, still standing, and lifted him up to his lips so that his feet were dangling above the ground and the man could remain standing. The position was so destabilizing and helpless that Patrick was kicking instantly, fighting back out of reflex.

Pete was giggling in Patrick’s line of sight, tossing his head back at something Hannah had said, but he met Patrick’s eyes with a look of pain on his face. Patrick whined, still struggling, but when he did, he felt the fang in his skin rip wider, and he held himself still with a whimper.

It was painfully obvious that he fed for too long, and whatever Pete was  attempting to get Hannah to tell him was only making this longer for Patrick, as far as he could see. Eventually, she yelled for the guy to get off. When he didn’t, she had to pull him off, tearing Patrick’s skin more, way too close to his jugular.

“Oh, come on, darling,” the man groaned. “Why don’t you let me finish? He’d make an excellent vampire. You know what they say, best tasting, best turning.”

“He’s a special case,” Hannah said, and shooed him out. She turned to Patrick and shook her head, annoyed.

“What is up with your blood, kid?” she asked.

“Flintstones Gummies. I didn’t stop taking them once I grew up,” Patrick said. Pete couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter, and Hannah rolled her eyes. She kissed Pete, told him she’d be back, and left, locking the door behind her.

“Well, I hope you had fun,” Patrick said, pulling his fingers away from his neck, shaking harder than he had been earlier. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed that he looked paler, which only made the blood on his hands look scarier. He didn’t bleed much, thankfully. Vampire venom healed the wounds quickly, though not instantly.

“I did,” Pete smiled, and Patrick huffed. “Oh, also, it’s time for you to shower.”

“No it is not!” Patrick said.

“Yeah, you get nervous and you sweat more when they feed. You’re pretty weak right now, this isn’t a request.” Pete gave him a thin, humourless smile. And Patrick desperately wanted to fight with him, but he _was_ weaker. He couldn’t fight.

“You’re gonna face the wall,” Patrick told him, and walked forward slowly. His gait was only a shuffle, he was still shivering from the recent blood loss. But he managed to shuffle into the bathroom, got inside the shower before undressing, and turned on the water.

Suddenly, he wished he had done this much earlier. The warm water all over felt amazing, and the week’s worth of grime washing off coupled with the heat of the water was almost intoxicating. He was just shampooing his hair when he noticed that the faucet had begun spinning, and he lost his footing as blackness enveloped his vision.

When Patrick next opened his eyes, Pete was staring down at him, snapping fingers in front of his face. He looked terrified, but his face almost immediately lit up.

“Patrick!” he gasped, pulling Patrick into a close hug. His face was pressed up against Patrick’s neck, but Patrick couldn’t bring himself to push Pete away, not when he seemed so scared.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked, but it was like his mouth was filled with cotton, garbled, and his tongue thick against his teeth. This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because Pete looked devastated when he pulled back.

“You passed out,” he said, and Patrick felt his body flood with embarrassment. He would have been blushing all over, if he had enough blood left to spare.

“I-in the shower?” Patrick groaned. He tried to lift his hand up to his hair to feel for soap, but his arms were too heavy, or his shoulders too weak.

Pete nodded, and Patrick groaned, slamming his eyes shut. Pete made a frustrated noise.

“Will you stop being so preoccupied with your dick? I thought you were dead!” his voice cracked a little, and Patrick opened his eyes again. Swallowed. Slowly, carefully,  he lifted himself up, ignoring the black spots on the edge of his vision, and wrapped his arms around Pete’s neck.

“I’m not dead,” he whispered.

“I heard a thud, and you didn’t want to shower and I made you.” Pete sounded like he was crying, and Patrick hugged him tighter.

“I’m okay,” he promised, rubbing Pete’s back with all the willpower he could summon. “I’m alright, shh, Pete, come on, I’m okay.”

The sat there in silence on the carpet for a few minutes, when eventually, Patrick pulled away. He was, at least, wrapped up in a couple of towels, which helped his bruised dignity slightly. They were very wet, though not as wet as Pete, which meant he probably threw them on before even pulling Patrick out of the shower.

“I still have shampoo in my hair,” Patrick told Pete.

“You want to finish?” Pete asked. Patrick cringed, trying to look at anything but Pete.

“I don’t- okay, god, I don’t actually think I can stand up for that long.” Being close to death, Patrick thought, should not be nearly this humiliating.

“I can drag a chair in there?” Pete suggested.

This was how Patrick ended up destroying an antique armchair, but, to be fair, the hotel deserved it.

After getting out of the shower the second time, Pete with his pendulum mood swings was grinning.

“What?” Patrick asked him warily. Pete held up a slip of paper and wagged it in the air.

“Hannah dropped something earlier,” he said. “And you just gave me an idea.”

***

Joe: Seen Pete or Patrick yet?

Andy: no have u?

Joe: I’m a prisoner, man.

Andy: so am i.

***

“Whose ass do I have to kiss tonight?” Andy asked bitterly, wearing his damned suit and lying on the hotel bed.

“The Dandies,” Andrea said, not pausing to correct him, “We’re thinking of adding them to our inner circle, letting them in on the plan.”

“Super,” Andy said, and his mouth curled with distaste. He walked over to the crib and picked up Carmilla, who was rapidly becoming his best friend. He pressed her close to his chest, and she cooed, tugging on a loose lock of his hair and letting out something that could have been a gurgle or a giggle, Andy couldn’t tell. She pulled his hair till it hurt, and when he pulled it away from her, she started crying. Andrea swooped in and yanked her from his arms, rocking her in the perfect rhythm it took to get her to quiet, one he hadn’t quite mastered.

“I should learn that too, you know,” Andy said. Andrea nodded, making a humming noise of agreement without really listening. Her phone buzzed, so Andy walked over to grab Carmilla away just as Andrea looked. The only word of the text he caught was Patrick, which made him immediately turn to see more, just as she shoved the phone deep into her pocket.

“Emergency, gotta go!” she said, wide eyed.

“Stop!” Andy yelled, grabbing her shoulders before she could run. “What kind of emergency?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with!” she hissed, trying to pull away.

“I saw Patrick’s name!” Andy growled. Andrea made a small noise in the back of her throat and seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded.

“Fine, come with me!” she said, and they ran out of the room.

The two of them sprinted through the hallways, Andy holding Carmilla’s head and trying not to jostle her as they went. He kept careful track of the room numbers, trying to memorize the number when she wrenched the door open, no room key in hand. 7340, 7340, 7340.

“What happened?” she shouted, panting as they entered the room. Andy’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of Patrick sprawled out on the ground, Pete standing in the corner looking murderous.

“I don’t know!” a girl in the center of the room wailed. “He should be fine, he’s only given four cups before today!”

“Exactly four cups?” Andrea snapped.

“S-sometimes it goes over, b-but-”

“You do NOT let it go over!” Andrea screamed. “Is he dead?”

“No!” she cried. Tears were streaming down her face. “He’s only unconscious!”

“Give me the baby,” Andrea demanded. “She’ll calm me down.”

Reluctantly, Andy handed Carmilla to Andrea, who began speaking in hushed tones to the other girl. Andy met Pete’s eyes from across the room, trying to convey so many apologies all at once. Pete looked thunderous, and he was across the room in a second, pinning Andy to the wall.

“I can’t believe you would let this happen,” Pete snarled. “He’s DYING here, and what the FUCK are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry!” Andy yelled. “I’m sorry, I am, I had no idea, you have to understand, I don’t want anyone to get hurt!”

Pete responded by screaming “Someone IS getting hurt! He’s DYING!” and Andy tried not to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, then felt Pete slide something under his collar. He threw one last disgusted look at Andy, then knelt down next to Patrick.

“Come on, let’s go,” Andrea said, grabbing Andy’s arm. “Hannah, I think we need to have a long talk later, but for now just get Patrick into bed, and take him off the menu for a while, all right?”

“Yes, Andrea,” the girl said miserably. Andy and Andrea left the room, Andy itching to see what it was that Pete had slipped him.

He snuck off into the bathroom back in their room, and unfolded a thick piece of stapled together paper. The back was handwritten by Pete, and said:

patrick was faking it. he’s okay. losing blood too fast though. make them stop feeding. found some light reading. thought it might be interesting to all the good guy vampires in the world.

xoxo pete

***

Andy: plan has to move forward earlier

Joe: Okay, when?

Andy: tomorrow

Andy: patrick got hurt

Joe: Is he okay?!

Andy: think so

Andy: anyway i have what we need now

Joe: Good. What time?

Andy: 5 am

Andy: we need a crowd

Andy: ive got a plan

***

The Plan, capital P, was not necessarily a _good_  plan, in Joe’s opinion. But, as he, Andy, and the gang agreed, it was the _only_ plan that had any chance of working. Ideally, they would have more people, get Pete and Patrick out first, and have enough time to scatter the vampires, tag the ones that seemed extraordinarily dedicated to the plan and stop anyone else from doing something similar.

Unfortunately, they were on a time limit. Andy’s texts were getting increasingly vague, whether due to a lack of time to text or suspicion that Andrea was watching him, Joe didn’t know. Telling him that Patrick got hurt was entirely unhelpful and uninformative, but it was a good reason for the time crunch. Joe needed more information, more time, but there was no time.

Maybe more time wouldn’t help him at all. Joe had been there for two days and nothing had happened after the doctor left. Someone dressed as a waiter came in once a day at 3 AM to check on him, measure his vitals, and encourage him that someone would pick him soon. They told him it was fine to keep smoking, which was good, because it calmed his nerves after every time they told him he would get picked soon.

It wasn’t surprising, then, when there was a knock while Joe was still sleeping the night after he got the text from Andy pushing the plan forward. He hadn’t shifted very easily into vampire schedule, so he was fast asleep at the strangest hours now.

Someone knocked twice in a row. Joe checked the clock on the bedside table, which said it was three in the morning. On vampire time, Joe was oversleeping.

The knock came again.

“Just a sec!” Joe called, his voice still a slurry from sleep. He stumbled out of bed and threw the door open, expecting to see just his waiter there to check on him, but the usual guy brought in a vampire boy, maybe fourteen at Joe’s best guess. Young in appearance, but he could be a thousand for all Joe knew.

“Hullo?” Joe’s eyebrows were arched in confusion. His waiter was beaming happily.

“Time to feed,” he said, bright and eager. Joe’s stomach dropped, and he felt heat rushing through him.

“Feed?” he parroted back. The waiter’s smile dimmed a little, but not much.

“You’ve been chosen,” he stage whispered. The young vampire smiled thinly.

Oh God he couldn’t have been chosen, they shouldn’t have wanted his blood, something had gone wrong, very very wrong, but Joe nodded, too stunned to do anything.

“Okay,” he breathed. His heart rate must have been through the roof, and the waiter was looking at him with a sympathetic expression.

“It’s normal to feel a bit nervous your first time,” the waiter said, patting Joe on the back. “But this is Carlos; he looks young but he is very experienced, so this should be pretty eas-”

“Actually,” the younger vampire interrupted, his voice high and cold, “I believe that he’s nervous for other reasons.”

The waiter gave both of them confused smiles, and the younger vampire rolled his eyes. His skin was dark, the circles around his eyes were darker, and Joe felt ill looking at him, all thin and sickly.

“I am much older than both of you,” the younger vampire said, “And I know the scent of a mutt like him from anywhere.”

“A mutt?” the waiter asked in confusion.

“Mutt, dog, beast, _werewolf_ ,” the vampire grinned. Joe’s waiter looked aghast, and Joe’s blood ran cold, his heart pounding. He couldn’t take down two vampires, the window was boarded, he wasn’t fast enough, he had to run…

“My God!” the waiter leaned over and was sniffing at Joe’s neck. Joe yanked back, panicked, but the waiter looked horrified, betrayed. “You’re right! I’m so, so sorry, sir, we’ll have this problem immediately eradicated,” he glared at Joe, and Joe was still frozen.

“Fortunately,” the boy said, “I happen to have a taste for canine every now and then. If you let me finish him off, no one need ever have to hear about your little mishap.”

“An excellent idea,” the waiter said, clearly relieved. “You’re welcome to him.”

“No, wait!” Joe yelled, scrambling backward, but the vampires were much faster than him. He was pinned against the wall before he had the chance to blink, his hand inches from his back, and his heart beating out of his chest.

“Don’t do this, okay, come on now, we can talk about this!” Joe pleaded, his breath coming out harsh and fast. “Come on, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“Stay quiet, dog,” the younger vampire ordered. The waiter stood behind him, nodding in agreement occasionally. “I haven’t killed in weeks, and the pleasure may just outshine the disgust at your stink.”

Joe grunted, trying to pull away from the iron like grip of the vampire. It was way stronger, way faster, and the only option Joe had left was to be clever. So he held still, closed his eyes, and let the fangs sink into his neck.

Vampire venom was supposed to be ecstasy for humans, or so Joe had heard. It was agony for him, like his veins were getting sandblasted from the neck down. Painful, but still not as painful as some transformation, so he was able to keep focusing. He held very, very still while the vampire began sucking, holding his position for as long as possible. He waited two heartbeats after the vampire relaxed, then yanked away with all his might, feeling the flesh on his neck tear as he ripped away. It ached as he did so, chunks of muscle slapping against his collarbone for just a second before he turned.

Once a wolf, the wound seemed much less dramatic, and he felt slightly ridiculous with the human clothes still clinging to him while he was covered in fur, but still, one growl and both the vampires recoiled.

“Don’t worry,” the younger vampire said, though he sounded uncertain. Joe growled, and the waiter flinched. With no time to lose, he pounced forward, ripping at the waiter’s flesh with more force than he thought possible. His teeth tore through the spinal cord, and the waiter dropped to his knees, eyes rolling backwards.

The living vampire cried out in fear and ran at the door, scrambling for the knob. Joe didn’t want to kill people, but he really needed more time now, and he jumped forward after him, anchoring his claws on the boy’s shoulders and tearing his throat out, all the way back to the spine.

Joe sat back on his haunches, panting. He shifted back into human form, adjusting his jeans that had slipped slightly as a wolf, and surveyed the damage in his room. He clamped his hand to his neck wound, and went into the bathroom, pressing a handful of toilet paper up against it. He tied it off with a ripped piece of t-shirt, and grabbed his cell phone.

***

Joe: The plan starts now.

Andy: what??????

Andy: no we have to wait!!!

Joe: They found me out. I killed two of them. It starts now.

Andy: r u hurt?

Joe: If you smell smoke, run.

***

“Big speech tonight,” Andrea said.

“Mmm,” Andy nodded, running his fingers through his hair. He was trying not to panic, and it wasn’t working very well. He tried to ignore the heavy weight of a crudely carved stake in his back pocket. “When?”

“Six,” she said. They were having a late breakfast, and she gave Andy an odd look. “You know that. Why?”

“I just think maybe earlier would be better,” Andy said. “Y’know, cause the sun rises at six thirty.”

“It’s not a long speech,” she said. “And you know your bit, right?”

“Yeah,” Andy sighed. “Yeah, I know my bit. ‘After careful consideration I have decided to support the vampire empowerment program. As a dhampir, I’ve benefited from being out in the sunlight, and I can live more freely than regular vampires. I believe it would be beneficial for all three of our races to merge, beginning with more research into dhampirs, and if I don’t say this, my friends will get murdered.’”

Andrea glared at him.

“Maybe cut the last bit,” she said acidically.

“Sorry,” Andy said.

“I don’t want to do this, you know,” she said.

“Then why are you doing it?” Andy asked, pleading. “Just let them go, okay? Talk about this with me, sweetheart, you’re acting-”

“Don’t say crazy!” she yelled. Her eyes were full of tears, and Andy pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he pulled her into a hug. He shouldn’t be comforting her, not at all, but she was crying. How could he not?

“People have been calling me and my father crazy for years and I- I thought you would get it, you know? I thought you would understand how mussed up the world was and how bad the humans are making it!”

“It’s not the humans’ fault, though,” Andy said. They were both frustrated, both tearful, both trying to make the other one see sense, and the worst was Andy knew how much she thought she was doing good.

“They took over this world,” Andrea said, tearful. “They’ve always had the control and they’re killing everything in the process! Vampires used to be feared, but now humans are fearless, and if they found out who we were, we would get vivisected and put on display till we die!”

“I know!” Andy said. “I know, okay, people are horrible and awful, but it’s not just humans, okay? Plenty of vampires are like that too.”

“Really? How many vampires have you met?”

“HUNDREDS!” Andy yelled, waving his arms above his head. “You’ve introduced me to every vampire in the world, practically, and some of them want to save the earth, and one of them was still wearing an ‘Elect Ronald Reagan’ button!”

“They live forever!” Andrea said. “They have to care more about the world because they live in it longer!”

“To someone from the middle ages, living to a hundred seems immortal!” Andy yelled. “But it’s still only some humans that care! And you and I are gonna die!”

“Not soon!” she screamed. Carmilla started wailing in the background.

“We aren’t gonna live forever, so how do you know it’ll work?” he yelled.

“We don’t know how long we’ll live!” she yelled.

“Nobody lives forever, and how do you know anyone after you can take care of the world?”

“I’ll take care of it myself!”

“You’re going to die!”

“STOP IT!” she screamed. She was crying, and instinctively, she balled her fists up in Andy’s shirt, and began crying on his chest, and he stopped, rubbing her back and shushing her.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, “Hey, sh, it’s okay, I promise.” She cried into his t-shirt, and Andy felt his heart cave in.

“We’re breaking Pete and Patrick out,” he said, the words coming out before he could stop them.

“You’re what?” she asked, tears still flowing from her eyes.

“I-” he paused, his eyes welling up with moisture as well. “Pete and Patrick were your friends!”

“They ARE my friends!” she said, her voice choking up again.

“They wouldn’t say that,” Andy said. Andrea looked crushed, so Andy kept talking. “Patrick is sick! Maybe dying! I’ll help you out for now, I promise, just please let them go!” To his surprise, she sat down, looking more miserable than ever.

“I want to,” she said, looking up at him with big, damp eyes. Her makeup was streaked down her face, the makeup Andy never saw her in before they got to the hotel.

“Then do it!” Andy pleaded. “He has to go to a hospital, Andrea, you should not pass out from blood loss!”

“I can’t,” she said, sobbing again. “Dimitri and Nina, they worked with my father, and they have as much say as I do. They insisted we get collateral on you. They were the ones that…”

“Told you to seduce me?” Andy asked.

“It was my idea, and I fell for you,” Andrea snapped. “They were the ones that you met, you killed Dimitri’s sister-”

“Morgan,” Andy’s eyes widened in recognition. “The ones in Indianapolis.” Andrea nodded.

“Look,” Andy said, shaking his head. “We’re breaking them out. You don’t have to do it officially, you can help.”

Andrea was quiet, staring directly into Andy’s eyes for a long time. Carmilla was crying, and neither of them moved to comfort her. Andrea bit her lip.

“You promise you’ll stay and help if I do?” she asked.

“I promise, I swear, sweetheart!”

“Okay,” Andrea said, nodding while she cried. “Okay, I’ll help you.”

Andy let the relief wash over him, and he grabbed Andrea around her waist and lifter her into a kiss.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he gasped, kissing her over and over. She let out a watery giggle.

“I should help you save the day more often,” she said, and Andy laughed too.

“Come on,” he said. “We need your master key, and we’re gonna meet Joe at 7340 to get into the room-”

“We can’t use the master key,” Andrea said, shaking her head. “The system’s computerized, it’ll show up that I used mine. The doors are made of wood, but the handle is weak enough that one of us could break through it. Do you have a distraction?”

“Um, yeah,” Andy scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “A few of our friends are setting, um, fire to the lobby.”

Andrea stared at him, her mouth hanging open.

“You’re setting fire to the historic Drake Hotel in Chicago?” she asked. “Do your friends know they’re going to get arrested?”

“Believe it or not, we have a few aces up our sleeves,” Andy said, though in reality, he hadn’t thought about human authority when he made the plan. Still, Bill was a fairy. They’d probably be alright.

Andrea shook her head and laughed. “Okay, let’s go to the room.” Andy nodded, and they bolted, Andrea scooping Carmilla up in her arms before they ran.

Even carrying a baby, they made it to the room in record time. Andrea was exhilarating to run with, and if somehow they worked this out, Andy thought it might be nice to go on a run with her. Joe was pacing when they got there, and he pulled a stake out from behind his back. There was a blood soaked rag wrapped around his neck, and he was soaked in sweat.

“Stay back!” he warned, holding up the stake at Andrea.

“No, Joe, she’s here to help!” Andy yelled. Andrea waved. Joe glared at both of them.

“Andy-” he began in a warning voice, but Andy shook his head.

“Give her a chance,” he pleaded. Joe looked between the two of them, and inhaled deeply. Andy could smell the blood saturating into the fabric when Joe strained himself, and his heart panged. He turned to the side, and saw Andrea staring at Joe as well, but with a darker expression on her face. Her phone went off, breaking the short silence, and she stared down at it, then looked back up.

“I have to go down to the lobby and sort out the fire problem, it’s gotten too big,” she said.

“It’ll only take a second to open the door,” Andy pleaded. Andrea looked at her phone, then back up at Andy.

“Andy, they’ve seen us,” she said, and pointed at a security camera. “I can’t.”

Andy tightened his fists.

“Fine,” he said, “Then go downstairs and take care of it, and maybe I’ll see you someday.” He could barely comprehend all he was leaving behind. His love, his daughter. His family, now. But still, Andrea shook her head.

“No, Andy,” she was crying, and she whisked the stake out of Joe’s hands. “You’re coming with me.”

“Don’t,” Andy whispered.

“I’m sorry!” she said. She shook her head. “I’ve worked too hard on this to give it up for them! To give it up for you!”

“Please!” Andy said, holding his hands up. She was aiming the stake straight at his heart.

“Just come with me,” she said. “It’s too late for them either way. How much more time will you be buying them if you stay with me? A week, a month? Patrick’s as good as dead anyway.”

Andy was crying, but his hand was already reaching for the stake in his pocket.

“Just drop the stake and come on,” he pleaded. “We can work on what you want to work on without them!”

“You’re just saying that,” Andrea said, and Andy knew she was right. “You’ll never listen.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and moving too fast for her to stop him, he plunged the stake through her heart, just above where she was cradling Carmilla in one hand.

Andrea’s eyes widened, her mouth a perfect circle, and her eyebrows turned in.

“I love…” she gurgled out, her breath sounding wet as she tried to speak. The stake rolled out of her hand, and Andy caught her as she began to fall backwards.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he said, kissing her as hard as he could and feeling nothing in return. He held her head in his, kissing her again and again and again. Someone was screaming, someone was grabbing his arm, but he couldn’t zero in on anything but her face, still as it was.

“Andy,” Joe spun him around by the shoulders, his eyes piercing into Andy’s like a bucket of ice water being dumped on him. “Security was watching, we have to go.”

“I can’t leave her,” he whimpered. He was limp, only being held up by Joe’s hands.

“I know, I know,” Joe said, pulling Andy into a hug, “I know. But security was watching and we have to get out of here before we get killed, okay?”

“Patrick and-” Andy began, but Joe shook his head.

“It’ll take a minute to break down the door, and we have to go. The fire’s getting out of hand and the vampires are making a break for it. This is our only chance to stop this.”

Andy nodded. It was very hard to breathe, and everything he could see was blurry.

“Carmilla,” he said, hoping the full message would get transferred over to Joe. Joe slipped something over Andy’s arms, and put the screaming baby in a sling on Andy’s chest. It must have been made of Joe’s shirt, Andy realized. He hadn’t noticed Joe having been shirtless before.

“Makeshift papoose,” Joe said, and dragged Andy up into a standing position. “We’ve gotta run.”

Andy nodded again, and let Joe drag him along. He led Andy to the lobby, both of them having to skirt dozens of vampires running in all directions, panicking when they smelled the smoke.

They finally made it to the top of the staircase overlooking the lobby, and Joe pushed Andy to front and center. Hundreds of vampires were in there, screaming, trying to put out the fire that blocked the doors.

Joe gripped Andy’s arm, nodded at him once, and turned to a wolf, howling long and loud. All of the mob stopped for a moment, staring up at Andy. He hadn’t yet stopped crying, but he took in a deep, shaky breath, and raised his voice.

“My name is Andy Hurley,” he said, loud as he could. He sounded exactly like someone who had been sobbing, but he kept going, needing to get all this out. “And I feel like you know who I am by now. Andrea and this organization have been lying to you.

“The plan is not to integrate with human society, but to destroy it. To eradicate vampires and enslave humans and make a dhampir race. My friends were kidnapped and used as collateral to make me agree with her, but I do not condone this. Their plan ends tonight. If you choose to leave now, leave in peace. If you stay to help them, or to feed on anyone else, you die in here.” Andy paused, panting. He held up the worn paper that Pete had slipped him, just the day before. “I have the manifesto here, and proof of what they’ve done. Whether or not you support them, I suggest you go home.”

Luckily, someone with a level head managed to dampen the flames around some of the doors, and when Andy stepped back, they began to flee into the night.

“Good that we didn’t try and do this at six, huh?” Joe said, his arm wrapped around Andy’s shoulder. Carmilla was screaming, and when Andy looked down, she was covered in blood.

“Lucky,” he agreed tonelessly. Joe looked really concerned, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Gabe Saporta and Chris and the entirety of The Academy Is ran up to them.

“Nice fire, huh?” Gabe asked.

“Maybe too nice,” Joe agreed.

“There are two other leaders,” Andy said, remembering. “Dimitry and Nina, we have to find them and kill them. The whole team.”

“I’ve never killed a vampire before,” Bill said, looking terrified. Andy smiled a dark, half smile.

“Well, don’t put your lighter down yet.”

***

Things had been going badly in Pete and Patrick’s room. They had a plan for Patrick to fake passing out so that Pete could pass Andy the note, give him the info that could help him. It was a good plan, but after everyone left, Patrick couldn’t stand up, and he couldn’t stay awake. He was shivering all the time.

The night after that, neither of them could sleep. Patrick could not sleep because under both heavy covers he was still too cold, and Pete couldn’t sleep over the sounds of teeth chattering.

“Patrick,” Pete said, glaring up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick snapped, “I’ll just make more blood faster, which is a conscious decision now.”

“I’m not- Jesus,” Pete groaned. He slid out of his bed and crawled under Patrick’s covers, Patrick yelling at him to stop and weakly shoving at his chest, not that it did anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete grumbled, and he wrapped his arms around Patrick’s chest.

“Leave me- oh god,” Patrick groaned, grabbing Pete and pulling him closer. Pete was deeply concerned for how icy Patrick’s skin felt, but he curled in closer as well. He rubbed Patrick’s arms up and down, and Patrick groaned.

“Hey, hey, come on, better, yeah?” Pete asked.

“I’m still freezing!” Patrick said, and it came out half like a sob. Pete’s face contorted in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he pulled Patrick in again, running his fingers through his hair. Patrick’s chest began to shake with a new rhythm that Pete thought might have been smaller shivers, but he soon realized that oh, no, Patrick was CRYING.

“Patrick!” Pete began, and Patrick let out a little sob.

“I’m gonna die here,” he whimpered. Pete could feel the hot tears on his shoulder, and he kept stroking Patrick’s hair.

“You’re not gonna die here,” Pete said. Patrick sobbed again, and Pete felt- well, mostly embarrassed. What does one do when an emotional black hole starts crying about something other than music in front of oneself?

“Yeah, okay,” Patrick said. His tears slowed. “You’re right. It’s stupid.”

Pete’s heart shattered a little when he saw Patrick was lying.

“Listen to me,” he murmured in Patrick’s ear. He didn’t have any need to speak up. “I absolutely promise that I will get you out of here.”

“Okay,” Patrick whispered back. Pete planned on only holding him until his skin got warm, but the both of them fell asleep there.

The next day seemed to drag on forever. Hannah didn’t come, no one came in to feed on Patrick, and all that happened was the presence of their first two meals of the day. Patrick had iron fortified cereal and whole milk for breakfast, and half of Pete’s pancakes that he insisted Patrick eat as well. For lunch, Patrick had a black bean salad, and all of Pete’s fries.

“All iron and no calories makes Rick a dull boy,” Pete advised.

“I think every single calorie I eat right now is supposed to go straight to my bloodstream,” Patrick had replied, but he did take Pete’s food.

The day was generally quieter than usual. Patrick wasn’t as bitchy, but Pete was more concerned that Patrick was agreeing to all his dumb roadtrip games than he would have been if Patrick were still whining.

Nothing was out of the ordinary until sometime in the afternoon (time was hard to tell) there was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” Pete yelled.

“Pete? Is that you?” he heard a familiar voice call back.

“JOE!” Patrick yelled, and they both bolted to the door. Once they got there, Patrick winced and slumped against the door, breathing heavily, but he shook his head at Pete when Pete gave him a confused look.

“Hey, you guys okay?” Joe asked.

“Not really,” Pete said, but he sounded incredibly cheerful. Joe was there! They were going to get out!

“Well, Andy’s on his way,” Joe said, seeming appropriately concerned. “And we’re gonna break down the door and get you out, okay?”

“Sooner the better,” Pete said, and he grinned at Patrick. Patrick smiled back, a huge smile that split his face and crinkled his eyes.

“We’re getting out!” Pete mouthed at Patrick. Patrick nodded back, looking kind of teary.

“So, you will not believe the day I’ve had,” Joe began, and he gave them a brief overview of the young vampire with the taste for werewolves. Patrick countered with the very nice surfer vampire, which Joe found infinitely amusing. Pete was about to mention Hannah when they heard Andy’s voice, and a general commotion afterwards. It was hard to distinguish what was going on outside, but one piece of evidence was painfully clear- Andy and Joe had left.  

Pete discovered that he no longer had to speak out loud to Patrick as much, and he could convey all the betrayal he felt with one look that Patrick mirrored. The two of them sat there in silence, waiting.

“Someone will have to let us out eventually,” Pete said finally. Patrick nodded, but he looked incredibly sad, and incredibly hopeless still.

“When?” Patrick asked. He was so pale, and still shivering after being wrapped up in every hoodie Andrea had brought Pete. Pete opened his mouth, never wanting to lie more in his life.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. Patrick cast one more look at the door, his lip trembling, when the door slammed open.

“Hey there, Patrick!” the surfer guy said. He looked terrified, but he was still smiling at Patrick in a way that reminded Pete of parents smiling at two year olds. “Mind if I have a bite?”

“No- I mean, yes!” Patrick yelped, but he grabbed Patrick’s arm and sucked out of his wrist for a minute before wiping his mouth and grinning.

“Good fucking luck!” the guy said, running away and leaving the door wide open and useless. Vampires were crashing through the halls, no waiters or supervision to be seen, and a lot of them were slowing down outside of Pete and Patrick’s doorway, their nostrils flaring as they smelled the blood.

“Pete,” Patrick said, tugging on Pete’s sleeve. Pete nodded and slammed the door, broken lock and all, and dragged Patrick into the bathroom area. They both sat down in the tub, Patrick breathing too heavily, looking too winded, and Pete’s mind racing. Patrick looked like he was about to start crying, and Pete pulled him in.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Pete whispered, pulling Patrick up to his chest. “It’s okay, it’s alright. It’s gonna be fine, shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, while Patrick buried his face in Pete’s chest.

“I wanna go home,” Patrick whimpered, his voice broken as he cried into Pete’s shirt.

"I know, I know." Pete said, stroking his hair, "shh, shh, we're gonna go home, we're gonna go home really soon."

Patrick shuddered, clinging tightly to Pete. He could hear the high pitched, nails on the chalkboard screams of the vampires outside. Something had them all in a state of riot, and Pete wasn’t entirely in a position to go investigate.

The screaming got closer, until they heard footsteps just outside the door. Patrick clung tighter to Pete, shaking his head rapidly. The sound of abnormally fast running feet got louder for a second, when suddenly the hotel door slammed against the wall, and there was a pale hand reaching into the tub.

"Sorry, little bloodslut." a man with messy black hair and a white hat said, wrenched Patrick out of Pete's grasp. "Time to power up."

"No, wait, stop!" Patrick squirmed and hit the vampire with his fists, but its teeth sank into Patrick's neck as though it were butter.

“LET HIM GO!” Pete screamed, jumping up and pulling the vampire back as hard as he could, which didn’t move the creature an inch. Patrick whimpered, his fingers scrabbling at the vampire’s chest, trying to push it back, but it slurped away in ecstasy. Pete tugged on the man, but he was thrown back, slammed up into the wall. It crunched, or Pete’s back did, and he was seeing spots for a moment before he could focus again.

Patrick had gone slack in the vampire’s grip, and Pete couldn’t see his eyes anymore. A surge of electricity washed through Pete, and he stood up, all thoughts of pain long gone. There was something rising in his throat that he had never felt before, and he released it.

“ _ **LET HIM GO.**_ ” he said, the words reverberating around the room, through the floors, the ceiling, Pete’s bones. The room was suddenly awash in golden light, and the vampire’s eyes clouded over as he let Patrick fall to the ground with a thunk.

“ _ **STAND STILL**_.” Pete ordered. The vampire stood stiff as a rod, and Pete snapped the leg of the nightstand under his foot. He stepped over Patrick’s body and shoved the leg of the table through the vampire’s chest, watching with disinterest as it disintegrated.

As suddenly as it was there, it was gone. The golden light faded, the vampire turned to ash, and Pete was aware, again, of Patrick coughing and gasping behind him. He spun round and scooped Patrick up in his arms. Too light, Patrick didn’t weigh nearly enough, Pete thought, as Patrick blinked sluggishly up at him.

Patrick’s blinking was slow, his face was pale and his lips were turning blue as though he were freezing to death. His mouth formed the beginning of a ‘P’ sound, but no sound came out. He looked at Pete panicked, breathing shallowly and gasping, but he couldn’t get out more than the P sound in Pete’s name.

“Shit,” Pete whispered. “You’re alive, right?” he asked, and Patrick made what he hoped was an affirmative sound. Pete looked out at the hallway. It was filled with vampires still, but they were all running for the exit. It was better than waiting for Patrick to get sucked dry, Pete thought, and then he ran out the door.

“Pete!” Patrick managed to choke out, “We- we can’t-” his eyes slid shut for a moment.

“Oh, no no no,” Pete muttered, following the crowd and glaring daggers with his eyes still glowing at anyone who even looked at Patrick, “You are not going to sleep, okay? We’re getting outside.”

“‘m tired,” Patrick complained, and his head lolled up against Pete’s chest. Pete was doing his all not to break down, so he smiled down at Patrick.

“You can sleep really soon, I promise,” Pete said, and Patrick hummed into Pete’s chest.

“Did I…?” Patrick trailed off into gibberish.

“Did you what?” Pete asked. He had to keep Patrick talking, keep him engaged. Keep holding on.

“Hurt?” Patrick asked.

“Yeah,” Pete said. He had no clue what Patrick was asking. “Uh, huh.”

“Pete,” Patrick said sharply, or as sharply as he could, which was still garbled.

“What?” Pete asked.

“Pete!” Patrick cried, and he twisted out of Pete’s arms, slamming the wooden table leg into the chest of a vampire coming up behind Pete in the elevator. To Pete’s surprise, Patrick had thrown his whole body weight into the staking, and the vampire disintegrated, dropping in front of it a knife that looked poised to attack Pete. He pulled Patrick closer to him, his arms curled tight around Patrick’s body.

“See?” Pete smiled at him. “I knew we had to keep you around.”

Patrick gave Pete a weary, blue lipped smile, his eyelids drooping.

“I dunno what’s happen,” he mumbled, but he wrapped his arms around Pete’s neck anyway. Pete held him close and kept whispering promises that it would be okay, that they would be fine, and no one even attempted to stop them as Pete raced them both out of the burning lobby, carrying Patrick down the streets that would have been busy at any other time of day.

No cabs were out to catch, and Pete had no money in any case, so he kept carrying Patrick. He didn’t know where any of the hospitals were in the city, so he just kept running. Hoping for something. His arms felt close to falling off, and the city was so dark and quiet and empty and no one was coming to help them.

After what felt like hours, what might have been hours by the way the sky changed color, he saw a glowing red hospital sign.

“How...explain...vampire?” Patrick was even more breathless than Pete, somehow.

“Fuck if I know,” Pete said, and he kissed Patrick on the forehead. His heart soared when Patrick scrunched up his nose and mumbled “gross” under his breath.  Pete beamed down at him.

“Yeah, I’m super fucking gross, yeah!” Pete said, and kicked the hospital door open with all his might.

Everything afterwards was a bit of a blur. Pete held Patrick as tight as he could, but no one seemed to hear his cry when Patrick got taken away, strapped down to a gurney and wheeled out of the room while Pete was handed paperwork to do. Name, age, height, weight, address, phone number, it was all shockingly easy for Pete to fill out, and yet he didn’t even know Patrick’s mother’s number to contact her. He gave the woman at the front desk a name, after which she nodded, said it would be fine, and told him to sit down. Possibly Pete had a concussion, but he wasn’t in the mood to be away from where he might hear news of Patrick’s condition.

Pete sat in the waiting room, hunched over his knees as the sun climbed in the sky, and wondered if wherever he was, Patrick could see it too.

***

It wasn’t even nine in the morning, and it was already the worst day of Andy’s entire life. He had killed his girlfriend, practically his wife, his daughter was covered in blood and would not stop screaming, they had narrowly avoided cops after burning out the inside of most of a wing of one of Chicago’s most important hotels, he had watched people burn to death and contributed to it, and after all that, when they were standing outside of the hotel, did Gabe speak up and remind them:

“Where is Pete?”

Frankly, Andy was tired of feeling like his entire chest had caved in on itself, but there it went again, his ribcage collapsing and his blood turning to ice. He turned to Joe with wide eyes.

“We didn’t,” he said, and Joe shook his head, the petrifying fear mirrored in his face. Gabe looked between to two, eyes wide.

“YOU LEFT THEM IN THERE?” he screamed. Andy shook his head again, not wanting to cry more.

“We have to go check the room,” Joe said. He grabbed Bill, presumably to charm speak their way in, and they bolted back into the hotel. Gabe kept staring at Andy, furious.

“You left them there!” he accused again, and Carmilla wailed accusingly along with him. Andy couldn’t say anything, just shook his head and stared down at the baby, screaming. Her face was turning brown from dried blood. Her mother’s blood. Andy was responsible for too many deaths, far too many, so he let Gabe scream and wished the ground would open up beneath him.

Joe and Bill ran out in a minute, both breathless.

‘The door was open,” Joe announced, and though everyone seemed happy, Andy didn’t breathe a sigh of relief yet. He didn’t deserve to anymore.

“No bodies,” Bill added, looking equally thrilled.

“Then where are they?” Andy asked, not looking up. He didn’t like being a part of this large group, didn’t like being the outsider in a group that knew how to work together and kept giving him shifty, distrustful looks.

A short discussion followed that Andy didn’t contribute much too, after which they decided to check nearby hospitals. Joe wrapped an arm around Andy’s shoulder and rubbed his arm while they walked, making faces at Carmilla until her wails turned into hiccups and giggles. Andy wished she were Joe’s baby, or Patrick’s, or anyone’s but his. He wasn’t ready to raise a kid on his own, not in the slightest.

The nine of them split out, fanning out to different hospitals around the city by foot, because none of them had the cash for a cab. Joe stayed with Andy the whole time, keeping a firm handing on his shoulder and leading the way. For reasons Andy couldn’t explain, no one seemed to think it was odd that two bloody, injured, and burnt men were walking down the streets of Chicago with an equally bloody baby, but he was grateful for it. Maybe Chicago was just that weird.

It wasn’t until nearly noon that Andy and Joe stumbled into a hospital that had a familiar looking head of black hair hunched over his knees, and his knees pulled up to his chest. They both sprinted over to Pete, planting themselves on either side of him and sandwiching him in a hug.

“You’re okay!” Joe yelled, and even Andy smiled, hugging Pete so tight he thought he might break a bone.

To Andy’s surprise, Pete didn’t seem so enthusiastic to see them. In fact, he didn’t react at all, but just kept hugging his knees tight against his chest.

“Pete?” Joe asked, but Pete didn’t look up. Andy heard himself talking before he registered he was saying something.

“Is Patrick okay?”

Pete’s shoulders shook, and Andy immediately jumped to the worst conclusion.

“He’s not…” Andy couldn’t finish the thought, didn’t want to say it out loud because saying it out loud would make it real, but thankfully, Pete shook his head. He looked up, eyes red and surrounded by dark circles.

“He’s not dead,” Pete said, hoarse and croaking. Andy exhaled heavily. “He’s not dead yet, but they won’t tell me how he’s doing.”

“He should be okay then, right?” Joe said. “He only lost a little blood-”

“He lost three pints before the door broke open,” Pete said. His voice was shaking, and he looked so, so tired.

“The door broke open?” Joe asked.

“Someone broke it,” Pete shrugged, staring at his knees and sniffing. “I don’t know, everyone was running away and they wanted to feed before they left.”

Andy had never seen anyone look more exhausted than Pete, and he wanted Pete to just take a nap, but Pete swallowed and kept talking.

“Two of them came in and drank, but the second one wasn’t gonna stop, so I- I don’t know, I made him.”

Andy wanted to ask how, but he couldn’t interrupt now.

“So I picked him up and ran here and he was still conscious, so maybe he’ll be?” Pete looked between Andy and Joe for reassurance.

“If he was still conscious, he should be fine, yeah?” Joe said, putting a hand on Pete’s. Joe used his other hand to start texting the others and telling them where they went. Carmilla started screaming again, and Andy tried to rock her. 

“Come on, baby, not now,” he pleaded, bouncing her up and down.

“Cute kid,” Pete muttered.

Andy didn’t mention that Pete wasn’t even looking at her. Once Gabe and Chris and an entire band showed up, Joe told Gabe to look after Pete for a minute, and grabbed Andy’s hand, pulling him away.

“Where are we going?” Andy ask. He let his hand hang in Joe’s, not fighting it but not really focusing on it that much.

“Bathroom,” Joe said. “We’re gonna wash Carmilla off.”

“Oh,” Andy said, looking down at Carmilla. Brown flakes of blood were falling off of her skin, and maybe she’d cry less if she were cleaner. Joe helped Andy undress her and sit her in the cleanest sink before grabbing wads of toilet paper to dampen. The two of them were gently sponging her off, and she seemed to get much more relaxed as they did.

“She is a cute kid,” Joe said, wiping off her neck. She had a tiny tuft of red hair on the top of her head, and big brown eyes, and yeah, she was pretty adorable, Andy had to admit. Andrea was right, though, she looked a lot like him.

“She is,” Andy agreed. “Jesus, dude, I’m not ready to raise a kid. I have no idea what to do.”

Joe nodded sympathetically at Andy. “Man, I don’t know what to do either.” Andy smiled at him, and Joe smiled back, when they heard a huge ruckus coming from the waiting room.

“I’ll go check,” Joe said, dashing out. By the time he returned, Andy had dressed Carmilla and put her back in the sling, where she seemed to finally be falling asleep.

“What happened?” Andy asked. Joe wrinkled his nose up.

“Gabe said ‘was’ in relation to Patrick, and I think Pete might’ve broken his nose.”

Andy considered this a moment, and then said “Good on Pete.”

Time passed stiffy in the waiting from. The air around Pete seemed stagnant and sour, and no one was willing to get near him. Hours crawled on. The sun had begun sinking in the sky when a nurse finally came out and called out Patrick’s name.

“Me!” Pete jumped up. “I’m here with him, I brought him here!”

“What’s your relation to him?” the nurse asked, looking Pete up and down. “Only immediate family can see him at the moment.”

Andy could see Pete shrivelling up before his eyes, so he jumped forward and caught the nurse’s eye, trying with all his might to use compulsion.

“ **Pete is his** …” Andy paused, and said “ **Husband**.”

“Husband?” the nurse said.

“ **They married in Canada**.” Andy said, not breaking eye contact. A haze started to slowly slip over her eyes, and she nodded.

“I think we can make an exception to the rules for such a lovely couple,” she said, sounding dreamy. “And in any case, he’s been saying Pete’s name in his sleep.”

It was worth the drained feeling, Andy thought, to see Pete light up brighter than Andy had ever seen him before. The nurse smiled sleepily.

“He should be stable enough for other visitors in a few hours,” she said, and led Pete in.

Sure enough, they were all allowed in soon enough, overfilling the hospital room. Patrick was still really pale and unhealthy looking, and smelled nothing like himself, but he was alive and laughing and Pete had taken up half to hospital bed to warm him up with body heat. He seemed well enough, as when Andy said he smelled weird, Patrick snapped “Good, I hope I got a transfusion with a disease so that no goddamn vampire ever tells me I smell good ever again!” but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge against Andy.

Soon his mom came, and she wrung her hands at the doctor's words of 40% blood loss, and hypovolemic shock, and Anna came, and she cried and apologized, and then she and Patrick began cooing over Carmilla. Finally, the room emptied of everyone but the band.

“You know Pete carried you five miles?” Joe said. He was eating Patrick’s hospital food, and they were all smiling so that even Andy’s face hurt.

“I’m not shocked,” Patrick said, grinning up at Pete. Pete, in turn, blushed.

“I didn’t think it was that far,” he said, and Patrick laughed.

“So,” Patrick stretched, Andy wincing at the way the IVs pulled. “What next?”

“What next?” Andy asked. “You almost got murdered by vampires!”

“But I didn’t,” Patrick pointed out. He yanked the sandwich Joe was eating away from him and tore a piece off. Pete had crawled back into his bed, and Patrick leaned into him without thinking.

“Technically, what day is it?” Pete asked.

“November 8th?” Joe guessed. Pete smiled thinly.

“Next, we go to California, with a short stop in Vegas,” Pete said. Patrick grinned too, and Andy could feel the layers of exhaustion in his body screaming.

**“We’ve got another album to make.”**

****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END OF THE SEASON, WOOO!!!!!!!  
> Wow, okay, I have so much to say but I'll try to keep it brief:  
> 1\. Do not even stress about missing your fave characters, because season 2 of The High Way to Hell is coming out by the end of July/beginning of August because breaks are for quitters.  
> 2\. I'm trying to update more than just once a month, but I'm working on it. Might be every two weeks, maybe every three weeks, I'm not certain, but I hope you guys can work with me while I try to figure it out!  
> 3\. I have a beta now, and you'll finally see a beta'ed chapter at the start of season 2, so that's exciting! Say goodbye to my constant grammar errors!  
> 4\. Check out the official High Way to Hell tumblr at http://thehigh-waytohell.tumblr.com/ and on a similar note, check out the rad channel for the story that my rad girlfriend made, which might end up having fan vids??? https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKlfyzE076SBoxEyQtKuXyA  
> 5\. I have the raddest fans ever and I love you all so much- all your comments have totally gotten me through this season, so I hope you stick around, because you all mean the world to me!  
> thanks for reading  
> Chapter Title by Fall Out Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted fanfiction in ages, so I'm a bit rusty, but bear with me, and also let me explain you a few things.  
> \  
> Secondly, I'm styling this story the way a tv show would work, so it's divided into seasons, with each chapter as an episode. This being the pilot, it has all the boring introductions, but it'll get cooler, so, as I said, bear with me.  
> 


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